


Web of Lies

by ladyxdarcy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual John, Bisexual John Watson, Canon Divergence - The Great Game, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, John's Sexuality Crisis, M/M, Meet-Cute, Moriarty is Secretly Kinky, Pre-Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Unresolved/Pre-Johnlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:39:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyxdarcy/pseuds/ladyxdarcy
Summary: Jim Moriarty had planned on seducing Molly Hooper to get close to Sherlock, but then someone better came along. One John H. Watson. Set Pre-TGG.John, working on accepting his bisexuality, begins dating nice, safe, sweet Jim from IT. What could go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this idea for a little while, a what-if of Moriarty dating John instead of Molly during The Great Game, so I had to write this little thing. There's probably already plenty of fics like it already, but this is my version.
> 
> This started as just a ficlet. Now it may become something so much more.

Jim Moriarty isn’t stupid. He’s been watching Sherlock Holmes for a while, bidding his time, and then the idiotic John Watson had to come along and ruin everything. He’d seen the secret smiles, the lingering looks, the tender touches. No, there was every chance that this former army doctor would steal Sherlock right from under Jim’s nose. This could not, _would not_ be tolerated. Sherlock was his.

He had plans already, of course, of wooing the Hooper girl who was also mooning over a certain consulting detective, knowing it’d be so easy, the girl was so desperate for positive affirmation that she’d be swayed despite the overwhelming evidence that Jim from IT was gay. He was prepared to withstand how boring the charade would be, if he could just get a brief moment with Sherlock, slip him his number, see if the so-called genius could be just as easily swayed. A test. A promise.

But then John Watson had to bungle it all up. It was quite rude, actually. Intolerable.

Plans had to change.

Jim knew that he had a jealous streak. He really didn’t like others playing with his toys, unless it led him to a better toy. And _god_ , the googly eyes Watson sent to Sherlock, and even worse were returned by Sherlock, were nauseating. However, it was obvious that Watson was only just coming to terms with his sexuality, probably hadn’t even acknowledged his inevitable attraction to the detective for what it was, which made him easy prey.

He watched him, watched him and Sherlock solve case after case, watch them flick at his web and tear at his careful designs, which really was getting a bit annoying now. Matters had to be seen to. And soon.

It really had been quite easy, orchestrating their little meet-cute. Watson was, as ever, oblivious to his surroundings. Jim was also rather skilled at playing pretend. It really spiced things up in the bedroom sometimes.

He calculated it perfectly. Watson— _John_ —was just leaving the lamentable hospital cafeteria, two steaming cups of coffee in hand, but obviously not paying too much attention as he was muttering under his breath about incorrigible geniuses and foot fungus. Not one of Jim’s plans, so he paid it no mind. Instead, he waited, counted the seconds, and then turned the corner.

**********

John was, to put it quite simply, annoyed.

He really had no idea why he was even still here, when it had been made clear that he wasn’t even needed, and yet John knew that it would be an empty flat and leftover chow mien if he left for home now, which he really wasn’t interested in at present. Sherlock also had the tendency to just leave without acknowledging John at all, or telling him where he was going, and he had no interest in trying to find a missing detective who was chasing after a serial bigamist apparently turned murderer in the dead of night all alone. Sherlock had a way of finding trouble, and he had no intention in letting the idiotic genius get hurt if he could help it.

Though he wished Sherlock wouldn’t treat him like Molly sometimes, ordering him about without a care, treating him like he less interesting than the fungal infection under the victim’s toe nails, no how “important” the fungus was to the case, or whatever the idiot genius was going on about.

He had, after being ignored for most of the day even though Sherlock was the one dragging him out of bed at the crack of dawn for no reason to run around London for clues before ending up at Bart’s, decided that they both could use a cup of coffee. Molly had made herself scarce after Sherlock had snapped at her, and John felt sorry for her, despite her habit of “forgetting” his name, but he also wished that she had stuck around to be the one to fetch coffee instead.

Grumbling to himself, John admittedly wasn’t paying much attention to where he was going and turned the corner apparently far too quickly, as the next thing he knew he was crashing into another person and the steaming coffee in his hands splashed all over the both of them.

“Shit! Christ!” John exclaimed in a hiss as he shook out his burning hands. He blinked his eyes at the other voice who voiced a similar trail of thought and looked up at the man standing in front of him drenched in most of the hot spilled coffee. “Oh, Christ, I’m sorry,” he hurried to say, wincing as the man gingerly plucked at his white t-shirt that was now stained and clinging to his body.

The man glanced up at him, a hesitant but wry smile curling at his lips, but it was the eyes that rooted John to the spot. They were black, an endless void, and John felt as though he were on the edge of a precipice teetering into the abyss. The man blinked then, and John shook his head.

“Sorry,” the man sheepishly said, letting his shirt go with a shiver, and John thought he might have caught an Irish lilt to his words. “I really should have been watching where I was going.”

“N-no, it’s my fault, I was the one with the coffee,” John denied.

The man bit his lip, his perfect white teeth dragging over the pink flesh slowly, before his brows furrowed in a frown as he took in John’s own coffee stained button-up shirt. “Oh god, I really am sorry.” He reached out for John’s arm before apparently thinking better of it and dropping his hand. “Um, there’s a bathroom nearby. If you wanted to freshen up a little. And let me get you two more coffees, to make up for causing you to spill it all,” he added, bending down to pick up the dropped cups.

“You really don’t have to do that,” John said, mildly regretful that he’d made a mess for the staff to clean up later.

“Oh, it’s no problem, really!” the man said hurriedly. “I was just on my way to get myself a cup, so I can easily get two more.” He flashed John a bright smile. “Please, it’s my fault.”

“What about you then?” John asked indicating the man’s soiled shirt. It was sticking to the man’s body again and had to be cold by now.

“I have an extra shirt in my locker,” the man shrugged.

“Do you work here? I’ve never seen you before,” John said with a small frown, taking in the man’s jeans and top.

“I work in the IT department. New hire. I was just getting off my shift, but I have some spare clothes just in case. Don’t worry about me, go get cleaned up and I’ll get the coffee.” The man grinned again, reaching out to clasp John’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze before ducking around him, hurrying to the cafeteria.

John watched him go for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. Guess he didn’t really have a choice. He made his way to the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt once he got inside to try to rinse off some of the mess from hiss shirt and vest before wiping down his pinkened skin. It wasn’t a serious burn or anything, and the other man definitely got the worst of it, but John did feel better once he was marginally cleaned up. He did feel bad about the other man, though, getting him new coffee while covered in John’s old ones. And he had been wearing fewer layers as well.

Speaking of the man, he was waiting outside of the bathroom by the time John got out, looking sheepishly enough that it didn’t come off as creepy, holding a drink carrier with three coffee cups in it. “Hi,” the man said when John stepped out towards him. “I didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I got sugar and cream for you as well.”

“Thanks, but you really didn’t have to do this,” John said with another shake of his head, but he couldn’t help but smile slightly. It’d been a long time since he felt like anyone considered him, really. It was…refreshing. Nice. “I’m John, by the way.”

“John,” the man repeated, almost softly, and nodded his head. “I’m Jim.”

John took the man’s proffered hand, the free one, noticing at the same time (and he didn’t know how he’d missed it before, though the Sherlock voice in his head had something to say about that) that the other man—Jim—was also lefthanded. “Nice to meet you, Jim.”

“You too, John.” The smile Jim gave him was almost shy, and a curious feeling came over John. He’d seen that look directed at him before, but from women.

John cleared his throat, taking the drink carrier as Jim took his one coffee out of it, and felt suddenly a little awkward. He knew how he would have acted if it had been a woman looking at him like that, but he wasn’t even certain that he was reading things properly. And Jim was a man.

Though, John had to admit, that last particular argument was sounding weaker in his head.

“You really should let me pay you for the coffee,” he said instead, like a coward.

Jim’s smile, though still shy, grew a little wider. “You could always pay me back another time. I know a better place to get coffee. Or…” Jim bit his lip again before giving a small shrug. “It doesn’t have to be coffee,” he added quietly.

Not coffee.

Right.

Jim was, without a doubt, definitely flirting with him.

John opened his mouth, ready to say his habitual _I’m not gay_ , but something stopped him. His eyes scanned over Jim, taking in the way the drying shirt still hugged his body close, the way the jeans fit snug but low on his waist, revealing just the hint of the line of his pants, and then back up to take in the man’s guileless but hopeful expression. He wasn’t unattractive. Not at all. In fact, Jim probably could get the number of any bloke he wanted. Which begged to question why he was bothering with a has-been like John. The only person who might have rivalled Jim’s attractiveness was a certain detective waiting for his coffee, and John halted that thought in its tracks right there.

“Okay,” John’s mouth said without much discussion with his brain.

The smile Jim gave John at that word was almost blinding. He stepped forward, setting his cup carefully back in the holder before reaching into his back pocket for a pen. He then reached for one of John’s hands with a playful little wink and quickly scribbled on his palm. “Call me,” he said a little bashfully, before plucking his cup back up and stepping away. “Anytime.”

John watched, a little bemused, as Jim threw him another small smile before hurrying away as though embarrassed. He didn’t quite know what to do with what just happened. He blinked, looking down at his palm, finding a phone number and a little smiley face written there in blue ink. Right. So…so he’d just got a bloke’s number.

A rather fit bloke’s number.

Right.

John hesitated only a moment longer before shaking his head and heading back towards the labs. His hand flexed, wanting to instinctively curl, but he kept his fingers out of his palm lest they smudge the ink. Just in case.

He was still a little dazed by the whole thing when he pushed into the lab, spotting Sherlock bent over the microscope still, jotting down notes without even looking at the paper. His lips were pursed, however, and it seemed as though he very pointedly wasn’t looking at John, until he did, his gaze accusatory.

“Where have you been?” he asked, before his gaze darted over John, taking in the spilt coffee and John’s posture with a blank expression settling over his features before he lightly sneered and returned his attention to his work. “ _Ah_.”

John huffed, annoyed at his colleague’s reaction, and set the man’s coffee cup nearby, tossing two sugar packets next to it in mild rebellion. He wasn’t Sherlock’s bloody servant. “‘Ah’ what, Sherlock?” he asked with a small amount of bite. Of course the man would deduce it all.

“Tell me, does she work or study here?” Sherlock drawled, sounding absolutely bored. “Judging by the way you’re careful not to let anything tough your palm, I’d say she has to be much younger if she uses the infantile gesture of writing her number on your hand.”

John paused, the knowledge that Sherlock couldn’t tell that it was a man’s number causing him to smirk slightly. “I’d say early- to mid-thirties, actually,” he said with a touch of smugness. He glanced at the number on his hand, wondering if he should rub it in Sherlock’s face that it wasn’t a woman at all, but something held him back. Perhaps it was the whole talk about John accepting a man’s number. More than that, it was John with a man’s number and a tentative date.

Jesus.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, not even bothering to hide it. He reached for his coffee, took a sip, and grimaced. “There’s no sugar in this,” he complained.

“Packets are by the cup,” John said in mild sing-song, his own cup already how he liked it, and moved to sit at one of the stools until he was needed again. He tried to ignore Sherlock then, gaze looking down at the numbers on his palm. John was still in a sort of limbo about this whole thing, honestly. He’d never shown interest in a man before. Well…

John’s gaze lifted then, settling on the curly hair of the consulting genius, hesitating for a moment before swallowing and looking down at his palm. Right. Well. It wouldn’t hurt to save the number in his phone. Just in case. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about smudging the ink. It just made sense, really.

Pulling out his phone, John quickly typed the digits in before saving it under the name ‘Jim.’ After a moment’s hesitation, and a quick glance at the smiley on his palm, John added a happy emoji face next to the name.

Right. Just because he saved the number, that didn’t mean he was actually going to call the man. Right?

For the second time that day, John (almost) spilled coffee on himself as Sherlock suddenly jumped up with an exclamation and proclaimed that they needed to leave. John rolled his eyes at his manic flatmate before tossing his mostly undrunk coffee away and grabbing his jacket to follow the impossible man out for another few hours of pointlessly running around London’s streets.

**********

When John finally managed to collapse in bed that night, exhausted and a little sore from a scuffle when the pointless running around actually turned into chasing after their suspect and catching the murderer (which turned out to be one of the serial bigamist’s illegal husbands and not the bigamist herself, who also almost became the next victim), he was about ready to just fall asleep and not think until the next day.

Sherlock better not wake him up again.

However, when John raised his hand to rub at his face, he saw the smudged ink there and recalled the earlier events of the day. Jim. He chewed on his lip, deliberating with himself, before drawing a deep breath. Well. He couldn’t deny that he was curious. And besides, one coffee date didn’t mean anything. One coffee date with a man. A fit man.

John groaned, not certain he was prepared for a crisis about his sexuality this late in his life, but he was a soldier. He wasn’t going to run scared. So, with this thought in mind, he found the new contact and typed out a quick message before hitting send. There. Done. No harm done.

No harm done at all.

…

Somewhere deep in London, a phone’s screen lit up with a new text message, and a spider smiled.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also on my [Tumblr](http://ladyxdarcy.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Jim go on their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo. Hello. I decided that I definitely wanted to turn this into a chaptered story, however updates will be slow in coming and on no real schedule, so it's going to be a surprise for everyone, even me. I'm sorry for people wanting more rapid and predictable updates, but life does not present me the luxury to focus on my fanfic writing as much as I would like. I hope no one's too disappointed, but that's just the things are. I will update as able, but there may be long stretches of time between them. Please be courteous and bear with me. Thank you.

John had a date with a man.

He had thought that he would be more…discomfited with the idea, and certainly a part of him was, but there was a sense of eagerness about it as well. He hadn’t really had that much luck on the dating scene, especially since any interest from others was quickly squashed by Sherlock demanding his presence or being a complete dick to his dates, and he had to admit that there was a certain feeling of flattery at having the attention of a bloke who was well fit.

John certainly wasn’t homophobic with regards to literally anyone else, however he couldn’t deny that there was a sort of…internalised issue regarding his own preference. Though it wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to seek comfort from each other at times—hell, Romans and Spartans did that sort of thing all the time to form tighter bonds—there was still a lingering bias when it was seen as anything more. Despite Harry’s frequently crude comments when she was pissed off her tits, John never partook in any sort of circle jerking, though he supposed his reasoning for that went deeper than he’d ever allowed himself to accept before.

There were times, many times in fact, throughout John’s life that he could appreciate the male body. He knew when someone was attractive, and he wasn’t insecure enough to need to deny that. Hell, his own flatmate had a sort of alien beauty to him, and John had caught himself staring at those bloody cheekbones of his more than once, especially when the idiot had his collar flipped up like a damn GQ model trying to look mysterious. As John spent more time around Sherlock, got to know him, that strangeness of his features seemed to change, turning more alluring than severe. No wonder Molly was so enamoured with him.

Before Sherlock, however, there was really only one other man that really took all of John’s focus; Major James Sholto.

Sholto was commanding, honourable, and steady. Before…everything. Back then, however, John had been enraptured, admittedly wonderstruck, his admiration for his commanding officer evident in his gaze he knew. The man was, however, everything that John wished to be, and so he couldn’t be too embarrassed by it all. And…yes, perhaps John had acknowledged that the man had a certain sensuality about him, a way of holding himself that could be downright indecent if he had had a mind for it. John wasn’t the only one envious (appreciative) of the man’s physique and bearing.

For years John told himself that all it was had been a professional admiration, but…but that was before John had a date with a man.

Jim was in every way different from Sholto. He was only slightly taller than John, of a much slighter frame, and didn’t seem worried about projecting any emphasised masculinity. He was comfortable in himself, and seemed rather sweet in a more unselfconscious way, and John had to admit that he found that interesting. Captivating, even. He couldn’t imagine being so secure in that sexuality whilst simultaneously knowing that many in the world still looked down upon that lifestyle. It revealed a masculinity that didn’t need the approval of others.

It still rather shocked him that someone like Jim could be interested in him, and yet there was no denying that after the man’s flirtatious actions, and especially not after there was a solid date planned for later that day. He was flattered, honestly. It certainly made up for Sherlock practically ignoring him ever since the case with the serial bigamist and her murderous husband was over.

_Looking forward to tonite :) – Jim_

John glanced down once again at the text he’d received earlier that day, a warm buzz of anticipation under his skin and in his belly. It was his usual pre-date feelings, but he could detect a little something more there was well. This was his first date with a man. And he wasn’t exactly gay, in case anyone forgot. John couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to it, however. Perhaps it was just what he needed, something different, something unexpected, and something Sherlock still hadn’t figured out.

Sherlock still thought John had a date with a woman, and John had made certain not to leave his phone lying around or look up anything embarrassing on his computer. As much as John wished he could. He honestly didn’t really know what to expect. Was dating a man different from dating a woman? Were expectations the same? He didn’t know if he’d be any good dating a man. Then again, he thought a little dryly, he didn’t think he was very good at dating women either. Not long term, at least.

But this. Did he want this to go past more than one date? Was he hoping for more? Hoping Jim would ask him out again? Hoping to get off with Jim?

He’d never kissed a man before. Never touched a man intimately like that. Sure, he’d had a few odd dreams here or there, but everyone had those. Right? It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t know what he would do if Jim leaned in to kiss him. There wouldn’t be feminine softness, no flavoured lips from gloss or balm, no gentle scent of skin. Would Jim have stubble? He’d been cleanshaven when he met him. Smooth, even…

Right. Nothing was going to be figured out until John arrived at the date. Still, he wished he knew a little more about what to expect, but he couldn’t risk Sherlock finding out too soon. It was amusing knowing that the genius had no idea his date was with a man, but something else tugged at him and made him want to keep it a secret a little while longer as well. He wasn’t ashamed that it was a man he was going to see, but a part of him still wanted to keep Sherlock in the dark for as long as possible.

Besides, he didn’t even know if the date would end well or not. He didn’t know if he’d be seeing more of Jim or not. He still didn’t know if he even wanted to.

“It’s not like you to get so worked up before a date,” Sherlock drawled from where he was cleaning his violin, startling John from his thoughts. Judging by Sherlock’s actions, Mrs Hudson was due to have a symphony of discordant proportions while John was on his date, causing the man to wince slightly in sympathy. Sherlock always did get rather annoyed when anything came in the way of the Work, and even if he had no case on at the moment anymore, he still apparently resented John going on dates in case something _did_ come up. Not like he hadn’t intruded on his dates before.

“Well, maybe I really like this one,” John said back, quickly slipping his phone back into his pocket as he moved to reach for his tea again, eyeing Sherlock in the other armchair. “Be nice to poor Mrs Hudson while I’m gone tonight, Sherlock,” he warned. “You just recently solved a murder, so you should be in high spirits.”

Sherlock snorted, rolling his eyes. “Your simple little mind is so droll, John,” he said with flippant sarcasm, setting his polishing rag aside to test out the cords of his instrument.

It was John’s turn to roll his eyes, standing up to put his now finished tea in the sink. “Not everyone can be a superhuman, Sherlock,” he muttered mostly to himself, back turned to the detective and turned on the tap to run into his cup for a moment before turning it off and wiping off his hands. “Stay off my computer while I’m gone,” he ordered more loudly for the other man to hear, knowing even as he said it that it would only cause the man to much more definitely go through it once he left. “I mean it, Sherlock.”

“Oh please, I have no interest in looking at your latest porn collection, John. Nor do I wish to read any insipid poetry this latest paramour of yours might have inspired in you. I have to deal with enough of it in your blog already.”

John bit his tongue, not rising to the bait. He couldn’t help but imagine Sherlock’s reaction if he stumbled across the kind of porno that would be more accurate to John’s current situation. He almost wished he could see it, actually. He wondered what Sherlock’s reaction would be if one of the men in it happened to be long, lanky, and darkly curly haired.

Ridding himself immediately of that sort of thought, having no interest to go down that road, John instead turned his attention back to Jim and his upcoming date. And the possibility of a very real _more_. It wasn’t that John was necessarily ignorant in the practice. Hell, as a doctor he’d had his fair share of fingers places, and he’d had some very adventurous girlfriends in his past, so it wasn’t even that he was a stranger to that sort of sex, but with another man? Would such a thing even turn him on?

Had he been alone, he might have given the matter more thought, might have looked up that sort of porn before his date after all, had it not been for his snooping flatmate. He’d enjoyed that sort of thing with women before, but two men? That would remain to be seen. When he had time to know that he had fully and properly deleted his search history, even in incognito mode. One could never trust secrets around a consulting genius.

He glanced at his watch. He still had a few hours left before his date. Maybe he should shower again. Just to be safe. Maybe Sherlock was right, maybe he _was_ worked up, but he figured he had every right to be. In any case, he had a feeling this night would be one to remember.

**********

Really, this was just too easy.

John was, as Jim knew he would be, already at the bar top nursing his second beer. The first no doubt went down quickly in nerves for fortification, the desire for “liquid courage” all too common in common masses, but Doctor Watson would not wish to be at all inebriated before his first date with a man.

Jim had to admit, however, that the good doctor cleaned up well. He wasn’t Jim’s usual taste, but then he supposed that preferring taller men was something he and John had in common. They certainly had a specific taller man in common, at the very least. Still, though…Doctor Watson obviously took care in his appearance tonight, no doubt nervous about what was expected among gay men. This really would be quite fun.

Jim moved forward quickly to the bar top, making certain his expression held just the right amount of worry and self-deprecation. “Oh my god, John, I’m so sorry I’m late!” He wasn’t late. In fact, he was just on time. He touched John’s bicep, sliding his hand down to the crook of his elbow as he slid into the seat next to the other man. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

John’s eyes swiftly moved over Jim’s body, his tongue touching his lower lip without notice, and Jim knew he’d done well. He almost wished he could wear one of his beloved Westwood or Reiss suits to see John’s reaction, if simple but well-fitting corduroy trousers and button-up shirt could catch that glance. John was, whether he realized it himself or not yet, clearly interested. That worked in Jim’s favour. And, vain creature that Jim acknowledged himself to be, John’s interest certainly stoked his ego.

Seeming to realize he’d been staring, John startled a little before giving Jim a small, nervous smile. “Oh, not at all,” he replied, turning his gaze back down to his drink. “Er, I ordered already, sorry. What can I get you?”

“I’d kill for a Murphy’s,” Jim said with a smile, squeezing John’s arm before finally retracting his hand. He was pleased to see John’s hand flex slightly—perhaps more a spasm than anything—on his pint glass, before signalling and ordering Jim’s own. “And no need to apologise, John, it just means I have to catch up,” he winked, letting his eyes wander with obvious approval over John’s choice of clothing. The doctor could use a little ego stoking as well, not only to make him more comfortable on his first gay date, but also in direct contrast to Sherlock’s own obvious treatment of the simple man. And, as Jim already admitted, there was something alluring about the good doctor. Something hidden, something…primal.

If it weren’t for the fact that Jim was in it for the long game, he might have manoeuvred the night to take John back to one of his London flats and unleash that something hidden. Alas, he could not rush things, and he wanted John at ease. Preferably without too much drama of his burgeoning sexuality crisis.

Glancing around the establishment, Jim took in the other patrons, the location, the music playing over the speakers…all so predictable. And _boring_. Of course, he could allow none of this to show in his expression when he turned back to look at John, and instead gave the man a small, almost shy smile.

“I’m really glad you agreed to meet me, John,” he said softly, flashing the bartender a smile when his pint was brought over, despite the fact that the foam took up a good portion of the top of the glass. The only time there was such as thing as too much head, the perverse and boyish part of him giggle quietly to himself.

“I…me too,” John replied, awkward and flustered and far too obvious. How Sherlock could put up with it on a constant basis was a mystery. John was, as Jim had already more than clearly seen, an open book. Perhaps Sherlock wasn’t so blind to the surprising allure of Doctor John Watson, or perhaps—less likely—there were hidden aspects to the good doctor. In any case, Jim planned to suss out everything.

“This is your first date with a man, isn’t it?” Jim asked just as John was bringing his pint up to his lips, causing him to splutter slightly into the cup, before giving Jim a rueful smile, dabbing at his lips with a paper napkin. Plebeian.

“That obvious, am I?” he asked in a tone that said he was used to being analysed. And this was where things would get interesting. It was obvious the former army doctor was intrigued by Sherlock’s ability of deduction and observation, but he was also clearly irritated by it on occasions too. Jim certainly had his own skills in that regard, though his was more in tune with the behaviour of people, and Jim knew he needed to tread a fine line of keeping Sherlock’s pet interested but not wary. After all, Jim from IT didn’t want to be another Sherlock Holmes. No, he had to be _better_ than Sherlock.

“I guess you could say this isn’t the first time I was someone’s gateway gay,” Jim murmured, pitching his tone just shy of melancholy, dropping his gaze down to his pint, letting his own rueful smile tug at his lips.

Predictably, John’s brows furrowed in concern, a frown touching his lips, as he settled a soft hand on Jim’s arm. “I’m…I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Ah, poor, stupid John. Confused, concerned, completely falling for Jim’s trap. Jim lift his eyes which were completely dry, but a hint of hurt played in their black depths. “Ah,” he said, seeming to force himself to smile. “It’s nothing. Really. I just suppose I’m a bit nonthreatening,” he said with a humourless laugh, though inwardly his laugh was anything but humourless and nonthreatening. “I’ve had more than one man coming to terms with their sexuality use me to figure out what they like before moving on to someone for something more…serious. Still, can’t say it’s not fun,” he said with another seemingly forced smile before taking a gulp of his brew.

John’s brows shot up, just as Jim knew they would, and he hastily set down his pint with a worried expression. “Oh shit,” Jim softly exclaimed. “Christ, I made myself sound like a real slag, didn’t I?” He covered his face with his hands, shaking his head before turning beseechingly towards John again. “I swear I’m clean and everything. I always use protection.” Which was probably one of the biggest lies of his life, but John was a doctor. “I get myself checked out whenever I change partners, and it’s not like I jump in bed on the first date.” Jim’s eyes, as if of their own accord, swept over John’s form again, and Jim willed his expression to pinken some. “Well, usually,” he admitted on a quiet breath.

John, uncomfortable and yet pleased at the same time, turned a little pink himself and rubbed over the back of his neck in another self-conscious gesture. Jim’s meaning had to be clear enough for even an idiot to understand. “I don’t…I don’t think you’re a slag,” he denied. Hesitancy was there. He was questioning whether he should make an excuse to go, questioning whether he was ready for this sort of thing, and yet his _nobility_ would not let him hurt Jim. Pathetic. But it worked in Jim’s favour, and was just to his plan. “I suppose I would be a hypocrite if I did,” he added with a grin, his shoulders relaxing some.

Jim let his own eyebrows go up then, and he glanced over John again as though in assessment. “Colour me intrigued,” he said with a helpless little laugh, glancing lower on John’s body. “I mean, I know you’ve got the swagger of a man with a…um,” Jim broke off, hurriedly turning to take a hasty gulp of his beer again, coughing slightly, while John’s ears flamed. “That is to say!” he hastened to add. “You’re comfortable with yourself! I mean. That’s…admirable.” A shy smile this time, and though John looked embarrassed, he relaxed further, and his shoulders took on a prouder air.

“I suppose you could say that,” John said after a moment. His eyes flashed over Jim again, before nodding. “I was in the army,” he explained what Jim already knew. “And I suppose I, er, let myself enjoy the local life a bit too much sometimes,” he said with another small flush. “Er. Only women.”

Jim was already nodding, however. “I can’t imagine it was safe for men like us,” he murmured quietly. “I’m sure a gorgeous bloke like you left more than one heartbroken lass with a glad eye.” John predictably started at the compliment, before looking pleased as a cat with cream. Or a sniper with a gun. “I have to say though, their loss is my gain.”

John glanced at him, a small smile shared between them, before he turned a little more on his stool to face Jim better. An unconscious gesture, and a good one. “I have to admit, I was…worried about this…date,” he said delicately, as though still unsure how to admit that this was what it was. “Like you said, I’ve never done with a bloke…er, man before. I wasn’t entirely certain what to expect.”

Duh. Jim didn’t roll his eyes, however, much as he wanted to. Instead, he reached out to lightly touch John’s arm. “I’m glad you texted me. I admit I was a little forward, but…” He smiled and shrugged. “Even if all I got was one coffee with you, it would have been worth it.” He bit his lip suddenly, looking away. “Although, I have to admit something John…”

Immediately on the defensive, John pulled away slightly with a frown. “What?” he asked, voice a touch hard. Trust issues, the therapist had said. Good to see that they were not gone. Made the eventual reveal so much sweeter.

“I looked you up,” Jim said, ducking his head to look up through his lashes as though embarrassed. “After the first day. I…I found your blog.”

John let out a heavy groan, but the wariness was gone again, replaced by resignation. “Yeah? And what did you think?” he asked, before a briefly funny look passed over his face at the phrase, before sighing and shaking his head. Interesting. A stirred memory? Most certainly Sherlock related. Ah, Jim had time to unravel it all later. He doubted his current scheme would fail.

Jim, for his part, let out a small laugh. “Honestly, I feel a little sorry for you!” he said in gentle tease. “That Sherlock bloke doesn’t seem like the easiest to get along with.” He shook his head. “It sounds like fun though. I wish I could go on such crazy adventures, but I’m just the IT bloke,” he added with a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I really enjoyed your writing, though,” he said shyly. “It’s so engaging to read, like talking to a friend. I hope you have more adventures, if only so that I can read more,”

John didn’t seem to know what to make of the last bit, unused to such praised focused on his part of the tale. “Oh, yeah, he can be a bit much. I still can’t believe people are reading my blog, but who knows.”

“It also seemed like you only recently broke up with your ex,” Jim murmured, glancing at John before focusing on his pint.

Sighing, John nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. Didn’t really work out.”

“I wish I could say I’m sorry to hear that, but that would be too big a lie for me to tell,” he said with a small grin.

John chuckled, catching Jim’s eye as his features softened. “Yeah…yeah, I’m…sort of glad too.”

Jim settled his hand over John’s arm again, giving it a small squeeze, and quietly drank his beer as they kept eye contact. John glanced down only briefly at Jim’s hand for a moment, his smile never failing, and Jim left it there for some time.

John didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t seem to mind at all.

**********

Did blokes kiss on the first date? John didn’t know. Judging by the way Jim had stared at his mouth, he doubted the other man would have minded much, but…that was still a bit too much too soon for John. Still. The date went…well.

The date went _really_ well.

Much better than John had been anticipating, of course. The beginning had been strained, awkward, but then the next couple hours had seemed to fly by, and John found that he had rather enjoyed himself, enjoyed Jim’s presence. And, well, if Jim and he had somehow found themselves sitting a little closer together by the end of the night, neither of them seemed to mind. Truthfully, it seemed they had both managed to have more drinks than they had been expecting, and John had stayed out far later than he’d initially intended.

And Jim…Jim had looked _good_. He knew the stereotype was that gays knew fashion and dressed well, though he doubted Jim actually knew much about fashion. He seemed…like a cool bloke. Down to earth, but smart, and very each to talk to. And, admittedly, to chat up.

John blushed to himself as he wandered on his way home from the pub, thinking about how much flirting he’d actually done once he’d grown more comfortable of the idea of being on a date with a man. A very fit man. A very fit man who was, surprisingly enough, very interested in John.

As they’d mentioned in the pub, John was no stranger to sex, and he hadn’t earned his reputation in the army by harmless kissing, but it seemed different having the interest of a man on him. And Jim was interested. In him. John. Would wonders never cease? Even more wonderful, Jim didn’t seem put off by John’s preoccupation with Sherlock, though he made certain it was known that it was only professional between them. Jim hadn’t seemed to mind, and he’d laughed at more than one story John told about the dangers of living in that flat, and his hand had practically stayed on his arm all night. John had rather liked it.

He liked it a lot.

And yeah, when they’d stood outside the pub, swaying with the breeze in their inebriation, John had wondered what it would be like to kiss a man. To pull the firm body of another male against him, feel the solidness of masculinity, feel the stubble as they brushed against each other…what would it be like? He’d swayed forward, curious, and he thought Jim might have swayed forward as well, eyes on his lips, but then a raucous bunch of uni twats had left the pub, hooting and hollering, and John had swiftly taken steps back. Even if he was curious, he didn’t think he could do that there, in public, where just anyone could see.

Jim looked regretful, but hopeful. John had to admit to feeling the same way. Jim had looked more than a little hesitant, and John worried for a moment he’d really messed up, before Jim had shyly asked if he might text him later. John had, with a grin, enthusiastically agreed, uni twats be damned.

They’d parted ways with one last look, Jim getting in a taxi which almost seemed to be waiting for him, despite knowing the man hadn’t had time to call for one, but John had decided that a bit of walking would clear his head some. He didn’t want to be completely pissed when he went home to Sherlock.

That thought did sober him up some, but then his phone chirped in his pocket, and he pulled it out to squint at the glare of the screen. A text message. Not from Sherlock, no. Sherlock didn’t use emoticons, and he didn’t sign it “Jim.” He grinned as a second message came through right after.

_xo :) – Jim_

_Since I couldn’t give you proper one. Goodnite, John – Jim_

John, paused in his walking, clumsily typed out a message of his own, the feeling of giddiness after a good date leaving him warm.

_Maybe next time I wont be such a gentleman JW_

Thank God for autocorrect.

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, John continued on his way home, unaware that not too far away, his date was smirking in the back of his “taxi,” sober and eager to implement the next step in his plan.

“I think, Seb,” Jim purred to his driver, “it’s time for…how would dear Johnny put it…the Misadventures of the Nightingale Mask.” His laughter, chilling and empty, wasn’t anything like what John had heard earlier that night, and it was very threatening indeed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about canon divergence I forgot to mention previously. No, John is not cheating on Sarah Sawyer, in this story they broke up earlier than in canon. And by canon, I mean based off of John's online blog entries.
> 
> Also, Jim gave me a bit of difficulty with this chapter, but I hope he's not too out of character. Please forgive any glaring issues.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a shift at work, John receives an unexpected visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fall semester is starting soon, and I'm beginning training to work at the campus bookstore tomorrow morning, so I wanted to get out a quick chapter before my time no longer belongs to me. I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for all the lovely comments you've been leaving. They've really been feeling me with so much joy and warm feelings. You guys are the best.
> 
> Also, tags and rating have been updated.

It had been over a week since John had been out on his date with Jim, and he found himself wishing to see the other man again, and soon. It was a strange feeling, especially considering he had been glad he hadn’t kissed Jim once he’d sobered up, not wanting to send the wrong message or anything. He _was_ interested, there was no denying that, but it was a step that he really didn’t think he was ready for, at least not without a fair bit of alcohol in his system.

It had been a long time since he’d clicked with someone on that level, in that way, and he was eager to determine if it had all been a fluke or if it could actually be something more. The last person he’d really connected with was Sherlock, and the less said about that the better, but even Sarah hadn’t spoken to that inner part of himself that Jim did. In hindsight, John could tell that while he had enjoyed her presence and found her more than a little attractive, there was a certain spark missing, and it was probably a good thing their relationship ended when it did.

Jim was something different, however. John actually and truly enjoyed the time spent with him, beyond the awkwardness of the first half hour or so, and so found himself feeling a measure of defensive concern towards the other man on Jim’s behalf. It wasn’t just a gay thing to use someone to decide what you liked and then toss them aside like yesterday’s rubbish. The fact that anyone could or would do that to someone like Jim, who seemed so sweet and kind, was inconceivable. That was why John knew he had to be careful. He didn’t want to hurt Jim if this turned out to be something he couldn’t do, and he hoped that they could at least remain friends if…whatever it was they were doing didn’t work out.

Though, John had to admit that he didn’t really see it not working out, at least not anytime soon. Perhaps it was the newness of it all, perhaps it was even because Sherlock was so obviously annoyed at not being able to deduce what new woman John was supposedly talking to, and John loved being able to get one over on the great and mighty Sherlock Holmes. In addition, his stomach constantly flipped every time his phone got a text notification, because even though he hadn’t seen Jim a week, they stilled talked every day through text.

It was mundane things, really. All the things he couldn’t talk about with Sherlock, like his patients, what he’d eaten that day, or just whatever random thought burst into his head that moment. As well, there was no denying that many of the texts took on a distinctly flirty undertone, if not a blatant overtone. He wouldn’t deny that Jim’s attentions boosted his ego some. Wasn’t it a known thing that gay blokes had high standards? If one of them liked John, and a fit one at that, well then that had to say something complimentary about John himself, didn’t it?

A quiet hope had filled John when he thought about the potential of another…date, another date, wanting to better understand his own feelings, but then things took a turn for the worst. As the weekend approached, John began nervously trying to decide how to ask Jim out on another date, a proper one this time with dinner involved, but also trying to pick another place that he didn’t normally frequent. He felt a little ashamed at that, but he didn’t want anyone to recognise him out with another man, and he especially didn’t want Sherlock following him. Again. Besides keeping the wool over Sherlock’s eyes, he also liked the thought of having something that was just his.

However, when John finally got the courage to ask Jim if he fancied a bite to eat, there was no response. In fact, when he nervously sent a second message some odd minutes later, he got an error message saying his text could not be delivered. Every message after that also failed to deliver, leaving John in a surly albeit worried mood.

Perhaps he had misjudged everything? Did Jim block him? Maybe Jim wasn’t as into him as he’d originally believed. It was a distressing notion, and Sherlock being a massive prat wasn’t helping matters.

“Dumped again, were you?” Sherlock commented, sounding far too obvious to be conversational, leaving John gritting his teeth. “Didn’t last long, did she? Just what are you doing to them to make them run away so fast?”

Knowing the tall git was smug that John’s mystery date apparently pulled the plug on their burgeoning relationship—or whatever the hell it was—did not improve John’s mood at all. It was, therefore, probably lucky that he got called in for an emergency shift at the clinic that he hadn’t been expecting. He sometimes wondered if Sherlock knew that he was all but asking to be punched in the face sometimes. (Or all the time, if John was being quite honest with himself.)

“If you burn down the flat while I’m gone,” John said in a strained voice as he grabbed his coat, “do us all a favour and make certain you’re inside it, hm?” With a roll of his eyes, annoyingly matched by Sherlock’s own in his typical prostrate position on the sofa doing absolutely nothing to help around the flat, John huffed and hurried down the stairs to get away from the walls that seemed to be closing in on him.

He loved that flat, truly, but sometimes Sherlock had a way of driving him out of it, which seemed to happen more and more lately. John knew, however, that he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, nor with any other roommate. Sherlock, the wanker, probably knew this too. Annoying git. But the fact remained that he never felt so alive since moving in with the madman, and though they didn’t speak about such emotional things, Sherlock was also the best friend he’d ever had. Whether that sentiment was returned or not was the bigger mystery, and certainly one John tried to avoid for fear of disappointment.

That didn’t mean he had to put up with Sherlock’s bouts of irritating childishness, however.

“Hey John,” Becca at the receptionist desk tiredly stated as he walked in, having to step around several persons with varying injuries, all of whom looked disgruntled to be there. “Sorry to call you in on your day off.”

“What happened?” he asked with a frown after signing in.

“Some Metroline accident,” Becca shrugged. “Not enough for the A&E, so they’re here.” She dropped her voice then, murmuring out of the side of her mouth for just John to hear. “Sprained wrists and whiplash, a few bumps and bruises…but you’d think they were dying with how they’re going on about it all,” she mildly complained.

John simply snorted, nodding his head. “Right, well, give me a couple minutes to get settled, and then send someone in.” He supposed that there were worst ways to spend an afternoon, and one of those was taking care of your roommate who was a baby in disguise.

As Becca described, the injuries were hardly anything to worry about, though the patients certainly knew how to kick up a fuss regardless, and John was already envisioning the end of the day and perhaps a quick stop at a pub before braving the return to the flat. It was amazing what a sense of entitlement did to a person, and he withstood more than one strident critique on how they ran a business. One woman in particular had had John clenching his teeth, and he was surprised he hadn’t snapped his pen in half with how tightly he was holding it, when she began proclaiming that their unprofessionalism and ignoring of patients “needs” was the reason why they weren’t “ _real_ doctors,” and John had to refrain from showing her just how unprofessional he could be.

Real doctors. _Hah._

The woman wouldn’t know what made a real doctor if it bit her in the clearly surgically augmented posterior. He wondered if her tune would change if he had his medal out, if he had pictures of himself in his fatigues with Bill or some others in his brigade on the wall, and that thought annoyed him just as much. It was for this reason his medal was somewhere unknown, buried in all his things untouched since the discharge ceremony, and any pictures he might have had from that time were since burned to ash.

 _Real doctors._  

He had held beating hearts in his hands, hand felt warm blood turn cold, and had saved more lives on and off the battlefield than that woman could even begin to comprehend. The realness of a doctor did not depend on where the doctor worked, but by the oaths they took and carried with them to their own graves. Her ignorance and entitlement were insulting. It took a great deal of strength not to simply throw her out and tell her to begone, but he had sworn oaths, and so he took care of her sprained hand and bruised head in tightly controlled silence.

Thankfully, it seemed the tide of patients were at its end, and John glanced at the clock with a small grimace of impatience. Only a few left, from the sounds of it, and then freedom.

As if reading his thoughts, Becca stuck her head in his door as he cleaned up from the previous patient, a young man with a narrow laceration on his cheek that needed little more than ointment and a plaster, having long since stopped bleeding on its own. John glanced up at her with a sort of tired hope, causing her to laugh. “Hanging in, Dr Watson?” she teased. “I’ve got just one more patient for you, and then I’ve been told to give you the all-clear.” She winked, and looked quite pretty when she did so, but John had already been warned off quite clearly at the start, so he never contemplated the matter seriously. And, to be honest, he was somewhat alarmed by the look of her wife in the photo Becca kept at her desk, who looked quite capable of taking him on despite his army training.

“Send them in, then,” he sighed, thankful that he at least was almost over.

“I really don’t want to be a bother,” a familiar voice was saying softly as he was led back, causing John to stiffen where he was, facing away from the door. “It’s not even that bad, it looks worse than it— _oh my god_ ,” the voice said, sounding as though they had stopped walking into the room once John came into view.

John briefly closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and turned around to face the man while also trying to not betray any emotion. “I’ll take it from here, Bec—oh my god, what happened to you?” John blurted, taking in the person before him.

Jim stood there, hunched over either in pain or embarrassment or both, holding a bloodstained tissue that had most likely been pressed against his bloody and bruised bottom lip. A nasty bruise also encircled one of his eyes and covered part of his jaw, and there was suspicious bruising at his neck in the shape of fingers. He was drastically pale and seemed incapable of meeting John’s eyes, after getting over his shock of seeing him.

John quickly snapped his mouth shut, took in Becca’s own alarmed expression at his lack of professionalism, before striding forward and taking the paperwork from her. “Thank you, Becca, I’ll see to it that, uh…Mr Worth,” he said, glancing at the papers, “is taken care of.” He then all but shooed her from the room and shut the door on her, before she could proclaim any one of the rules that she might think about using if she knew who Jim was to him. Or…who he had been?

Clearing his throat, John turned back, trying to remind himself that he was Dr Watson here, not a jilted lover with the object of his affections bruised and bloodied before him. Besides, they’d only had one date after all. “Uh…Mr Worth,” he began, motioning for Jim to sit on the chair for patients while taking his own at his desk. “Do you consent to an examination of your condition?”

Jim’s lips quirked a little bit, before wincing as it stretched the wound there. “Not entirely how I imagined the first time you examine me to go,” he mused quietly, sounding as though he were trying too hard for levity. He swallowed and risked a glance up at John. “John…”

John teetered on the edge of decisions, before huffing forcefully and sliding his chair over to Jim’s, face gentling. “Jim…what happened?” he asked in clear concern.

Jim’s jaw trembled for a moment, before he drew in a shaky breath. “I, er…got jumped,” he said, but the way his eyes slid away from John’s told him that that was a lie. “I didn't even know that you worked here. It’s not a big deal…”

“Jim,” John said forcefully. “It is a very big deal. You probably should have gone to hospital for all this,” he then gently reprimanded, moving to pull on fresh gloves before lightly tilting Jim’s head to better catch the lighting as he visually examined the injuries. “Do you want to tell me how this really happened?”

Jim flushed, keeping his gaze away from John’s, and looked almost like he was about to bite his lip before thinking better of it. “It’s not important, John,” he murmured quietly, as though defeated. “Please…?”

John sighed, not wanting to drop it at all, but he figured he could get the story out of Jim after he’d tended to the man. “The lip might need stitches. Are you injured anywhere else?”

Hesitating, Jim seemed to be considering his options before nodding with a sigh. “My…my chest, maybe my back. I was, er, thrown a little hard against the wall,” he mumbled.

“Was that when this happened?” John asked, keeping his tone mild, soft, like one would for a spooked animal, and indicated the bruising at Jim’s neck.

“Yeah,” Jim quietly agreed. “Rober—I mean, the mugger didn’t do it for long, but he left it pretty tender.”

Rober—?

Robert, most likely, then. John’s insides felt hot and prickly at the thought of someone hurting Jim like this, and apparently someone Jim knew. Someone Jim was embarrassed about, or who he was protecting. Neither made John happy.

“The bruising will take some time to fade,” John murmured instead, moving to get gauze and disinfectant for Jim’s bloody lip. “This might sting a little bit,” he warned. Jim nodded slightly, though he still winced and sharply inhaled a breath as the cool liquid touched his lip. “Sorry,” John said with a small wince of his own.

“It’s fine,” Jim quietly said once he could, and only then seemed to realise that his hand had strayed to John’s knee. He hastily took it off. “Sorry,” he whispered, looking down as John moved away.

“No matter,” John said, perhaps a little gruffer than normal, before returning to Jim’s side with a bit of ointment. “It looks like we can avoid the stitches, but you’re going to want to be very careful with the injury for the next few days, if not longer,” he advised.

“Does that mean I can’t kiss my doctor in gratitude?” Jim asked with a small smile, before dropping his gaze again at John’s look, hunching his shoulders further.

Ignoring this, John asked in a much more detached tone of voice, “I’m going to need to examine your chest and back now.”

As he watched Jim stiffly begin taking off his (now bloodstained) shirt, John wondered just what Jim was thinking with all of this. First, he seemed just as interested as John was, then he dropped off the face of the earth, only to return battered and now flirting with him again. He didn’t know what to expect anymore, so he settled into his doctor role and tried to push their personal relationship—whatever the hell it was—to the side to deal with later.

Jim had more bruises around his midsection, as well as on his upper arms which had been hidden by his shirt sleeves, as well as a faint discoloration along his back. He might not be a Sherlock Holmes, but he was a medical man, and he could guess at the play of events that must have transpired. Held firmly, pushed into a wall, choked, punched…it wasn’t a random act of violence or mugging. A friend? An ex? Another jilted lover?

John quashed those thoughts immediately. Even if Jim just played with hearts, he didn’t deserve this brutality. At least it wasn’t like Jim had seduced him and then left him. They hadn’t even kissed yet.

As if he sensed John’s mood, Jim remained quiet and meek, only speaking to answer John’s questions during the examination, treatment, and paperwork. He looked far more dejected than he had at the start, and John could see that he looked a lot more worn than he had just a week previous.

“I’m prescribing you a mild pain killer. If you have any reactions or complications, you can return here, and any available doctor will see to you. Or, if you are concerned, you can go to hospital and we can send your paperwork over for them,” John said, signing the prescription slip before tearing it off and handing it out. “If you have not done so yet, I recommend reporting this to the police.”

Jim nodded, head hanging low, and took the slip from John. He glanced up, hesitating as though he were going to say something, before drooping further and letting out a sigh. “Thank you,” he murmured before turning and heading out the door.

John waited, clenching his hand into a fist at his side, and resisted the very real urge to slam it into his desk or wall. A few minutes later, quiet footsteps approached, but the soft clack of small heels on the linoleum told him it wasn’t who he’d wanted it to be.

“John?” Becca’s soft voice asked. “Are you okay?”

John waved her off, straightening and moving to put his things away. “That was my last patient, right?” He nodded in answer to his own question. “I’m gonna clean up here and then head out then. Call me if you need me again, otherwise I’ll see you Monday.”

Becca had her own hesitation in the doorway, before seeming to decide to let sleeping dogs lie and simply left him alone, which he didn’t know if he preferred or not.

Why was he so upset over one bloke? They’d only been out on one casual date, hadn’t even kissed, and John didn’t even know if he was truly gay or not. Or whatever it was he was…or wasn’t. Ugh. John was confusing himself, and he could feel a headache forming. Shaking his head, he finished cleaning up before taking his things, signing off, and heading out. He need a drink. Or several.

He hadn’t made it even a half-block, however, before a quiet and wary voice softly called out, “John?”

Despite knowing he shouldn’t, John paused, closing his eyes as he drew in a deep breath. After a slow count to five, John turned around. Jim was standing off to the side, clearly nervous, hands twisting in front of him. He glanced around him as though afraid his assailant would pop out from behind every shadow, or perhaps looking for witnesses against further assault. John huffed at that last bit.

“What do you want?” he asked a touch stiffly. “I’m off-duty now, Mr Worth.”

Jim flinched a little at that. “I-I know,” he quietly said. He hesitated further, however, seeming to draw his strength together before swallowing. “Robert.” He glanced up at John through his brow, his fingers twisting in his shirt before stilling. “The man who…hurt me. His name was Robert. He’s…he’s an ex-boyfriend.” Jim flushed, dropping his gaze again. “It wasn’t the first time,” he admittedly, barely loud enough to be heard.

John’s irritation fell away immediately at that. Though he’d never had an abusive ex himself, he had seen more than his fair share of suspicious bruises on patients, and it confirmed his earlier theory. “What happened?” he asked, though his voice was still stiff, though for different reasons now.

Jim glanced around himself again. “Can we…discuss this somewhere else?”

John thought about taking Jim to Baker Street, to Sherlock’s den of inquiry, and immediately balked at that. This was much too soon, and Jim definitely seemed far too fragile for that sort of invasive questioning the detective would only all too naturally take up. Not to mention the deductions. Swallowing a grimace, John held an arm out. “There’s a pub nearby. I’ll buy you a drink,” he offered.

Jim was silent, seeming to consider that, before giving John a weak smile and a small nod. “All right,” he agreed, and softly stepped forward.

It didn’t take long before they were ensconced in a booth at the pub John sometimes frequented after a trying work shift, not even stopping to think about people recognizing him for more than a minute before focusing on Jim again, with drinks before the both of them.

Jim seemed hesitant to talk now, however, wincing slightly as he drank his cold beer. John had had second thoughts considering the man’s split lip, but he could tell that liquid courage was far more necessary than minor medical attention at present. Only after a quarter of his drink had disappeared did Jim begin speaking again.

Drawing in a deep breath, Jim began explaining, though he kept his gaze on the table top between them. “I started dating Robert about two years ago. It started out nice,” he said with a small smile of remembrance. “He’d show up at work with flowers, take me out on nice dates, give me presents for no reason…it was wonderful, actually. But then…” Jim’s countenance grew more shadowed then, and the smile fell from his lips. He took a larger gulp of his beer before starting again.

“I don’t know if something bad happened at work, but he took it out on me. Apologized right after, it was only one hit, and I had been having row with him, so I forgave him. But…then it started getting worse. Before I knew it, I was in too deep.” He shuddered, causing John to have to restrain himself from reaching out to comfort him.

“What happened next?” John quietly asked, sensing that Jim wouldn’t continue without some prodding. Indeed, Jim drew in a shuddering breath and seemed to have to rally himself again to speak.

“I eventually got out. Kicked him out of my flat, changed the locks, even moved after a few months when I could afford it. He…didn’t go away easily, but eventually he stopped, and I didn’t see him anymore. I…I guess I sort of just forgot him. I was happier not to remember him. Until a few days ago,” he grimaced.

A few days ago. That would be, John realized, around the time that Jim stopped replying to his messages. When he stopped getting them, apparently.

“I tried texting you a few days ago,” he quietly pointed out, hoping for some kind of confirmation, or explanation.

Jim winced. “He took my phone. Broke it.” He sighed, staring down at his beer but not drinking any more of it. “He read my texts though, beforehand, and I think that’s what really set him off. He got jealous. He was…always prone to jealousy.”

Alarm bells clanged loudly in John’s head, and he sat up straighter, leaning in slightly. “He didn’t…hurt you any other way, did he?” he asked, feeling a dark anger rising up within him.

Jim glanced up at him confused for a second before sharply exhaling and shaking his head. “NO,” he said firmly. “No. He didn’t…do that,” he added more quietly. “Just…what you see,” he sighed. “And called me a few choice names, but I’m used to that. I just…it’s embarrassing.”

“Hey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” John said fervently, reaching out to taking Jim’s hand in his own without much thought. “It can be really hard getting out of that sort of situation, and you should be very proud of yourself for doing it not only once, but twice.” He squeezed Jim’s hand, smiling slightly at the man, pleased when a tentative smile was returned.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get your messages, John,” he sighed, but John quickly shook his head.

“Hey, no,” he said with a small frown. “You don’t need to apologize for that. I should be the one apologizing, for being so…abrupt with you, when I thought you had just been avoiding me.”

“Oh, John,” Jim breathed, staring at him with wide eyes. “I would never just avoid you. I like you far too much for that.” He then bit his lip at exposing himself so earnestly, though he flinched at the sudden pain from his lip.

John moved from his side of the booth over to Jim’s in an instant, picking up a clean napkin from the stack and holding it up to Jim’s lips to lightly press against the sudden welling of blood. He smiled a little abashedly, his free arm snaked around the booth’s back around Jim’s shoulders, but didn’t pull away. Given the flush but rather pleased look he received for his troubles, he didn’t think that Jim much minded.

“You know,” John murmured quietly. “I was going to ask you out on a second date. To dinner. In my texts to you.”

Jim’s expression brightened as he smiled at John. “Really?” He hummed at the thought. “Had I gotten that text, I would have agreed in a heartbeat,” he murmured.

“Yeah?” John asked with a small predatory smile.

“Yeah,” Jim answered with a small laugh, eyes dropping to John’s mouth, and John followed his gaze. “I told you my regret, after our first date,” he breathed.

Swallowing, John nodded. His hand holding the bloody napkin dropped to the table. “You need to be careful with your injuries,” he reminded.

“You know what?” Jim asked, in the same breathy tone. “I don’t bloody care.”

In that instant of moving, and he didn’t really know who moved first, and feeling Jim’s lips pressed against his own even with their metallic taste, John found that he didn’t much care either. About anything.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol disclaimer on that I am a broke bitch and I never go to doctor's when I'm hurt or unwell, so any medical thing mentioned is probs vastly incorrect but yolo that's why this is fanfiction and not a textbook. If I make any flubs, just quietly shake your head and forget it okay? Because that's what I do lol.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's sexuality crisis continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have noticed, the rating of this story has changed from Mature to Explicit to reflect future content I plan to include. You might just get a little taste of it with this chapter, too... ;)

“Are you certain he won’t come back?” John frowned, peering suspiciously at every shadow they crossed. A small part of him wished he’d had his gun on him, but he also thought that that would probably freak Jim out after what he’d been through, so it was probably better he didn’t. Besides, John didn’t need a gun to take someone down, and honestly the thought of smashing his fist into some abusive arsehole’s face was more than pleasant.

Jim glanced over at John from where he was fiddling with his keys to get the front door of his flat open, giving him a small smile a shake of his head. “No, I…I told him I’d call the police if I see him again.” Even after saying that, however, Jim turned back to the door and hesitantly pushed it open, staring into the dark entrance. “I should probably change the locks,” he muttered to himself.

John stepped forward, resting his hand on Jim’s shoulder and giving him a reassuring smile. “How about I go first, hm?” he murmured quietly, getting a relieved smile in response and a small nod. Briefly squeezing Jim’s shoulder, John gave him another reassuring look before taking point and stepping around him to enter the dark flat and switch on the light with some guidance from Jim.

It was a spacious room, a studio flat equipped with large windows with modern wood flooring and sleek appliances, which left little space for an intruder to hide with its mostly open concept design. John tried not to stare too much as he checked each room, feeling like it was almost an invasion of privacy checking Jim’s bedroom, before he felt confident in expressing the room ex-boyfriend free. He returned to Jim with a smile, shaking his head.

“All’s clear,” he said, causing Jim to let out a relieved rush of air as he sighed. “If you show me where you keep your medical kit, I can see to your lip again.” He had to fight a blush at that thought. Though Jim had certainly opened it again with his worrying while telling John his story, John also knew that their activities after hadn’t done it any favours. He wished he could say the taste of blood transferred to his own lips had been enough to stop him, but truthfully it had almost made him hungrier. It excited a part in him that loved danger, a part of him that so far only Sherlock had managed to call out.

Though, Sherlock had never called it out quite like this before.

Jim gave a wry smile and touched his tender bottom lip, which was still sluggishly oozing blood as he kept absentmindedly biting it with his unease. “Yeah, it’s in the loo, in the cupboard. I’ll make some tea, all right?”

John nodded, knowing where the toilet was thanks to his earlier investigation, and headed that way to find the kit while Jim moved to the open kitchen area. He still wasn’t quite certain how he’d managed to find his way into Jim’s flat, only that he had taken one look at Jim’s face when he mentioned heading home and felt that fierce desire to protect the man rising again. He’d tend to Jim’s lip, maybe double-check that none of his other injuries were hurting him, and then go home. Sherlock would be worr—well, no, actually. Sherlock wouldn’t be worried because he probably didn’t even realize John wasn’t there. Again. John could just not return at all that night and Sherlock probably wouldn’t even notice.

Not that John wouldn’t be going home. Of course he was. So he stopped that train of thought right there. Resoundingly.

Carrying the small kit back to the main room, he glanced over at Jim who was busying himself setting up a tea tray, finding himself relaxing again. This was all fine. He was merely at a friend’s house, patching him up. A male friend. A male friend he had gone on a date with. A male friend he had wanted (still wanted) to go on another date with. A male friend he had been close to snogging in a pub not even an hour earlier.

Jesus.

Shaking his head, John moved to set the kit on the counter that doubled as a breakfast bar as well as the only real divider between the main room and the kitchen, standing next to the barstool chair on his side of it all. “You really need to let the lip heal, otherwise you might need to get those stitches after all.”

Jim grimaced at the thought, turning to look at him with displeasure. “I hate stitches,” he complained. “I really wasn’t even going to see anyone about all this, except I had to take off work during all this, and I figured having evidence I went to a doctor might appease the higher ups,” he snorted. “I really do appreciate you making certain I was okay, John,” he said a little shyly, looking up at John with a small smile before turning to the singing kettle to pour the boiling water into the teapot to steep.

“It’s my job…and my pleasure,” John added on, trying to be more truthful. After all Jim had been through, he deserved that much at least. And, after all, he _had_ nearly had his tongue down this man’s throat, as he’d previously contemplated. The kiss hadn’t gotten too far, of course, but that hadn’t been because John wasn’t enjoying it. In fact, he’d been starting to enjoy it a little too much.

It had been different kissing a man, and yet wasn’t too different at all. Jim had soft lips, minus the injury, and he had been quite compliant underneath John’s own, but there was a hardness to him as well that was missing from women. Not to mention that has John’s hand had slipped into Jim’s short hair, had heard the quiet grunt from the other man, he considered that he now knew what Jim looked like without a shirt on, and it most decidedly was not unpleasant.

Minus the bruising.

That thought alone had made John pull back before he could do much more than flick his tongue against Jim’s tender lips, which he was in hindsight grateful for. The pub was one he frequented after work sometimes, and the chances of being recognised were high, and he wasn’t quite certain he was ready for that yet. Even if a more primal part of him had wanted to do more than simply shove his tongue down Jim’s throat.

Jim set the tea tray on the counter before walking around it to climb on to the other waiting stool there, smiling a little at John as he turned to face him. “I’m really glad you were the one I went to see, even if it had been an accidental meeting,” he quietly said. “It was a happy accident.”

“I’m glad I was the one able to help you,” John replied with an answering smile, pushing other thoughts away. “If you get into any other sorts of trouble, I want you to come to me, all right? Even if it’s just an electrical shock from a rowdy computer, all right?” he teased.

Jim let out a small laugh, grinning. “You don’t need to tell me twice. Although hopefully next time I see you it’s on a date, not because of an injury.”

“Is this your way of asking me out, Mr Worth?” John replied archly as he settled into his own seat, though his lips curled up slightly, revealing what he really felt about the matter.

“Well, you did say you wanted to take me out to dinner, Dr Watson,” Jim smirked. “A boy could get used to such notions.”

“I took you to a pub and bought you a beer,” John pointed out, trying not to laugh as he pulled the medical kit closer and opened it to see what Jim had on hand. “That make’s it your turn now.”

“I hardly consider that a date!” Jim protested with a huff and a pout.

“No?” John teased. “Certainly sounds like a date to me. You even kissed me.”

Jim scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Excuse me, _you_ kissed _me_.”

“Hmm, I suppose the truth will never be known.” John glanced at Jim, smirking, and was pleased to see the other man struggling to keep his scowl in place. It felt good, this sort of flirtatious bantering, and he was happy to see that Jim’s unease from earlier was no longer evident on his features. He let out pleased sound, pulling out a small tube from the kit. “Oh, wonderful, you have medical glue. This should work nicely.” Had he known the trouble Jim’s mouth would be (he was trying not to think of any double entendre there), he would have applied it at the clinic, however he had thought it’d heal fine without it then.

“If you’re just trying to glue my mouth shut so I shut up…” Jim warned, though his dark eyes sparkled with humour.

“Trust me, if I were to glue anyone’s mouth shut, it wouldn’t be yours,” John replied quite truthfully, while thinking of the individual he _wouldn’t_ mind doing just that to. “Lean forward, and open your mouth slightly,” he ordered, finding a moistened towelette in the kit to clean up the area first. When Jim complied, he lightly dabbed the towelette around the wound, cleaning up dried blood before disinfecting the wound itself, murmuring apologies again when Jim let out a small wince of discomfort. After that it wasn’t too hard to apply a thin coating of the medical glue to Jim’s lip.

“Keep your lips parted until it dries,” he murmured quietly, glancing up at Jim’s eyes that looked obsidian this close, like endless dark pools drawing him in, and which were watching him with a similar intensity. Suppressing a shiver, but not his interest, John leaned in a little bit closer and gently blew on Jim’s lip to hasten the drying. He watched Jim’s eyes close, heard the man swallow, and had to fight the overwhelming desire to kiss the man again. At this rate, Jim’s lip would never heal, and he desperately wanted it to.

He pulled away, clearing his own throat and moving to pick up the rubbish to throw away. “Right,” he said a little gruffly, moving off the stool and around the counter to the bin tucked away under the sink. “Once that dries, you should be fine. Bruises do tend to swell well after they’ve been applied, so I suggest using an ice pack on your throat before bed. You don’t want any breathing difficulties. Especially before I can take you out on that date I promised you,” he added softly with a small smile.

Jim, eyes open now to stare fondly at John, nodded. He tentatively touched his lip before practicing closing his mouth partly. When he was satisfied it was dry enough to speak, he smiled. “Thank you. I will. I look greatly forward to that date. But I hope you aren’t leaving now. The tea should be ready now.”

John hesitated. He really should go home. He really shouldn’t wait a moment longer.

“Please?” Jim asked softly.

John’s will broke, and he let out a quiet sigh. “All right. I’ll stay for a cuppa,” he agreed.

Jim’s entire expression brightened, and he moved quickly to prepare their drinks while John washed his hands at the kitchen sink, indicating how he preferred his tea. Though he thought it a bad idea, he agreed to Jim’s request to move to the sofa, as it’d be more comfortable, drawing in a slow breath when Jim sat a little closer than expected. Still. Everything was fine.

Catching sight of Jim’s small, shy smile and the sparkle in his deep, dark eyes, John relaxed slightly against the cushions, a small smile of his own curling his lips. Yes, it was all fine indeed.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Christ, I should really be getting home,” John huffed with a small laugh several hours, two cups of tea, and a few beers later. It had probably been a mistake agreeing to stay for a second cuppa, and even worse to agree to switch the tea out for a beer, and then it only got worse from there. Jim had been hard to turn down, however, and there was still a part of John that was worried about the man if he left.

“Jesus, is it that late already?” Jim questioned, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. It was shortly after midnight now, and the alcohol of the beer working with the release of stress from the day (from the week, really), had John feeling a little light headed, and he doubted Jim was any different.

John set his now empty bottle on the low coffee table set before the sofa and ran a hand over his face, hearing the slight bristle of his stubble under his roughened palm, and fought the urge to yawn. “I _really_ should be getting home now.” He stood up, readjusting to the world and the thought of trying to catch a taxi at this hour, wondering if it had been wise to leave Sherlock alone for this long. He very well could have burned down the flat by now for all John knew. Though he figured Lestrade would at least _try_ to get a hold of him if that happened.

“It’s really late, John,” Jim said quietly after a few moments of quiet. He looked down at his own empty beer bottle in his hands to avoid looking up at John, fiddling with the paper label with his fingernails. “Maybe…that is, perhaps it would be better if you…stayed?” He chanced a glance up at John then, took in his alarmed expression, and quickly held up his hands with wide eyes, bottle dropping to the plush rug covered floor with a dull clank. “Just to sleep! I just meant that it’s really not wise to travel so late, and you can take off first thing in the morning. I have spare blankets and pillows, for the sofa,” he rapidly explained.

John grimaced slightly, both at the thought of what Sherlock might think or do as well as at how tempting that offer sounded. And it sounded _quite_ tempting. He and Jim were having a good time, frankly, just chatting and laughing together, more at ease than John could remember being for a while. It wasn’t the first time he crashed on someone’s sofa, either, and he found himself reluctant to leave for a number of reasons.

“I just…” Jim looked away, moving to bite his lip before huffing and releasing it a moment later as the glue tugged. “I just don’t really want to be alone right now,” he murmured quietly.

Well. That settled things.

Sighing, John nodded. “You’re right,” he said, letting out a yawn now and stretching, not wanting to hurt Jim’s ego at all. “It is really late, and I’m dead on my feet. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d love to kip here. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as the sun is up, promise.”

Jim turned to John, grinning, and picked up his dropped bottle before standing. “Well,” he said, grin turning a little sly. “Maybe not _that_ soon.” He chuckled, gathering up the empty bottles. “Since you’re staying, how about a little something stronger, as a nightcap?” he asked with a wink.

John wasn’t entirely certain how wise that was, but he’d already proven that he was bad at saying no that night. “Sure,” he said instead with a grin of his own, finding almost all of Jim’s smiles infectious. “I’m just going to freshen up a bit, all right?”

“Of course! Um, if you don’t mind wearing something of mine, my pyjamas are in the middle drawer in the wardrobe in my room. You could borrow a pair of my pyjama bottoms, we’re about the same size. Spare towels are in the cupboard right outside the bathroom if you want to take a shower, just put everything in the hamper by the door when you’re done.”

John hesitated, not certain how he felt about borrowing another man’s pyjamas, but he also wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in the trousers he’d worn all day at work. And a shower honestly sounded heavenly as well. “Yeah, okay. Won’t be a minute,” he said, heading off towards the short hallway, the end of which held Jim’s room. He hesitated again at the entry of it, feeling the invasion of privacy again as he looked in, almost a little embarrassed on Jim’s behalf.

The walls were a light blue-grey with a quatrefoil in white and a darker grey accent wall which the head of the bed was centred on, flanked by matching bedside tables. The wardrobe was on the right side of the room, near the door that connected to the combined bathroom/lavatory, and John moved towards it while trying not to look too closely at the personal knickknacks littered about the room. He didn’t know how Jim could be so comfortable with someone he knew barely anything of pawing through his personal belongings and clothes, but he wasn’t about to betray that trust by snooping. He wasn’t Sherlock, after all.

Grabbing the first set of pyjama bottoms he found, John moved next to get a towel and headed in to take a shower, thankful that his years as both a doctor and a soldier had him more than proficient at quick showers. He took little more than a quick rinse anyways, not wanting to linger where Jim also was frequently wet and naked. He certainly didn’t want to linger in that state himself, Jim so near, and John’s recent porn preferences just waiting to be brought forward in thought.

Hastily rinsing the day off and drying, John redressed in his boxers and vest before pulling on the borrowed pyjamas, folding and bundling his clothing to take with him back in the main room. He glanced at the sofa, where a pillow and some bedding were neatly placed at one end, before turning to Jim who was just finishing pouring roughly two fingers each of what appeared to be pretty decent scotch whiskey.

Turning at his approach, Jim’s smile faltered as his eyes slowly drifted first down John’s body and then even more slowly up, taking in the still slightly damp spots where John’s shirt clung to him a little more. He swallowed, letting out a heavy breath as he turned away, which both made John feel warm with a flush but also like a proud peacock. Though his self-consciousness had been sparked by Jim’s initial reaction, his ego had been stoked a little by realizing just what Jim’s reaction meant. He was still continually surprised at every show of attraction Jim displayed towards him, though he made him wonder if he ever looked the same.

“Ah…I don’t have the best whiskey, but I figured this was decent enough,” Jim said, still sounding slightly flustered, though he managed to keep his eyes on John’s face next time he turned around to had him the glass, the ice clinking softly as their fingers brushed in the pass off.

“Thanks,” John said with a smile, trying to recapture the ease from earlier. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Jim seemed to relax slightly, and he brought his own glass and the bottle back with him to the sofa, John following easily. Settled back down together, Jim turned to better face John, one knee crooked on the sofa with his free arm on the back of the sofa between them. “So, John,” he began, a familiar tease entering his voice. “When were you going to take me to dinner?”

John huffed in laughter, rolling his eyes as he relaxed in to the sofa likewise facing him, and brought his glass up for a taste. The smoky flavour burned the back of his throat, leaving a pleasant warmth in his chest as he gazed at Jim. He considered continuing the tease, considered denying that he was going to after all, but the wash of alcohol again had him feeling quite mellow and…well, pleased at the prospect of taking Jim out on a proper date.

“How about this weekend?” Jim blinked at John’s words, apparently stunned at the sudden acquiescence, causing John to smile. “Hold on, let me ask this properly. Jim, Mr Worth, would you be agreeable to accompanying me to dinner this weekend on a date?”

The surprised look on Jim’s face morphed into a happy smile, and Jim scoot just a touch closer to John as he drank from his glass. “Dr Watson,” he murmured quietly, “I would be honoured.”

John grinned over his glass, and with a small half motion of a toast between them, they jointly finished the rest of their drink before Jim was reaching out for the bottle to refill their glasses. “Thanks,” he murmured, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa as he watched Jim. “So, we talked a bit about my sister, but what about you? Any siblings?”

Jim looked down at his glass, clinking the ice around for a moment, letting out a soft sigh. “A brother. Younger. Last I heard of him, he was a station master in Bristol, but that was years ago. Had a bit of falling out with the family when my… _proclivities_ came out,” he said with a small sneer before shaking his head. “Haven’t been back since I was nineteen when my da kicked me out,” he shrugged.

Frowning, John reached out to place his hand on Jim’s knee. “I’m sorry,” he said. “When my sister came out, my dad went ballistic too,” he huffed. “It was bad enough Harry was a girl, in his eyes, but having her be gay too…”

“Is that why you never came out as bisexual?”

John considered that question, and the way that it came out. There was nothing accusatory in the tone, and Jim looked merely curious about the answer. “I don’t know,” he said, still having a hard time connecting that word with himself, despite his and Jim’s proximity. “I honestly didn’t realize I was…bisexual…until recently.” He gave a crooked, wry smile. “You certainly helped that greatly. Without that, I don’t know when I would have come to terms with these _proclivities_ ,” he murmured with a small tease, earning a smile from Jim which had been his plan all along. He hadn’t meant to turn Jim morose, and he wanted to fix that. “But probably,” he said eventually. “Dad wasn’t the most accepting of things, and mum didn’t help much in standing up for us. I have to thank them, though.”

“Why?” Jim snorted, causing John to chuckle.

“I don’t think I’d be where I am now, who I am now, if I hadn’t felt such a need to prove myself.” John hummed around his glass. “But somehow we got to talking about myself again.”

Jim laughed, resting his hand over John’s on his knee. “Maybe I just find you more fascinating,” he said with a grin. “I just want to get to know you. It’s been so long since I met a genuinely decent bloke.”

“Decent, huh? Well that won’t do for my reputation,” John teased.

Jim gave a much throatier laugh, drinking deeply from his glass, causing John to unthinkingly do the same. “We can’t have that,” he said, squeezing John’s hand still on his knee, before sliding his hand further up John’s arm. “How do you suppose we ought to fix that?” he breathed.

John swallowed, feeling a heat in his chest he wasn’t so certain was from the alcohol, though he wondered if it could explain how light his head felt. He nervously took another big swallow of his drink, leaning over to set the now empty glass aside, which consequently made Jim’s hand slid off his arm to land on his thigh. He drew in a deep breath, watching Jim’s fingers lightly caress the material on his legs, feeling it much more clearly through the thinner cotton material.

“Am I making you uncomfortable, John?” Jim whispered, leaning in slightly. John hesitated, considered what he was feeling, but his head and blood were dancing with alcohol and something more. He shook his head, causing Jim to smile as he slid closer against him. “Can I kiss you, John?”

It took only a moment for John to quickly nod, not trusting his voice in that moment, caught by the scent of Jim around him; not only from the man himself, but in the very clothes that John was wearing, a sort of sweet musk that made John want more.

Grinning, Jim slid in against John until their thighs were flush against each other, leaning until his lips lightly grazed John’s jaw. “John,” he breathed, his hand splayed against his chest. He nuzzled at John’s jaw, working his lips down to John’s neck, causing John to draw in a shuddering breath. “Let me know if you want me to stop,” he whispered.

“Don’t,” John choked out, closing his eyes with a small groan as he felt the wet heat of Jim’s open mouth against the sensitive skin of his neck. There was a slight rasp of Jim’s own stubbled jaw which was different from anything he’d ever experienced, but it wasn’t too off-putting. John was too focused on the way Jim’s tongue felt as it flicked against his throat. Jim’s hand began slowly caressing John’s chest as his lips and tongue moved back up John’s jaw. John’s own hand moved to curl into the dark hair of the man against him, momentarily at a loss for the length he was so used to, but then Jim’s hand was slipping her his shirt as their mouths met, and all other thought was lost to him.

It was unlike kissing any woman he’d ever snogged, hard lines instead of soft curves, made all the more obvious as more and more of Jim pressed again him as their kiss deepened, and soon John knew just what it was like kissing a man. A moan from Jim sent the heat from John’s chest to his lower belly, and it was quite without thought when John pulled Jim tighter against him. Jim, apparently, had no qualms about such a thing, and he eagerly swung a leg over John to sit astride him, knees on either side of John as he pushed him against the backrest of the sofa.

“John,” Jim moaned again against John’s lips, nipping at them as both hands now slid and caressed under John’s shirt. Through the thin material of his borrowed pyjama bottoms, John could feel the tantalizing heat of Jim’s body so close. His own hands sliding to Jim’s hips, he pulled the man closer, causing a whimper to leave Jim as he pushed down against John. “John…fuck…” he breathed, pressing down as John pushed up.

John was dizzy with want, mind empty except for the bliss of a warm body to rock against, and he shuddered as Jim’s mouth left his lips to latch on to the lobe of his ear, teeth and tongue teasing at the flesh. “Fuck,” John gasped, filling himself swell easily as he thrust lightly up, Jim grinding down in answer. There was an incessant buzz at the back of his mind, but his alcohol and sex addled mind could barely think, especially when Jim’s nails lightly scraped over an erect nipple.

“I want you,” Jim breathed, wet and hot, against John’s ear. He pulled back slightly, staring down into John’s flushed face, and for the briefest of seconds John felt like he was staring into the very eye of the devil. All such thoughts fled and were forgotten, however, as Jim pulled his hands free of John’s chest, curling one arm around John’s shoulders as the other reached for the sofa beside them, using both them and his hips to pull John with him as he twisted to the side, laying back against the sofa cushions as he led John on top of him. He pushed the blankets and pillow aside for more space, drawing John into another kiss.

Back in the familiar position of kneeling above a warm and willing lover, John let out a small growl of happiness before taking control of the kiss. He was comfortable in this position, in control, though his hands faltered for a second as they went to grasp full breasts that weren’t there.

No matter.

With new vigour due to Jim’s responsiveness to his more domineering kiss, kisses he’d had to temper for his previous girlfriends and female lovers, John returned to rocking against Jim, eliciting a moan that was almost a whine from the man beneath him. Smirking against Jim’s lips, John took Jim’s bottom lip roughly between his teeth and bit down as he slid a hand to cup Jim’s arse and bring him even closer.

Two things happened then: the first was that John was instantly reminded of the state of Jim’s lip when a sound that was both pain and pleasure erupted from Jim’s throat, and the second was that he was instantly reminded of just what was beneath him. The suddenly feeling of a hard length that was not his own pressing into his belly woke John from his lust and alcohol induced haze, and he pulled rapidly away with a gasp of shock and dismay.

Jim, cheeks stained red, eyes wide but staring at nothing, lips swollen and bruised from John’s abuse and that which happened earlier, chest heaving for breath, and the tell-tale bulge in his trousers, laid sprawled on the sofa before John. John, whose eyes were equally as wide and whose chest was equally as heaving, was staring at the body before him like he’d never seen it before. He stumbled back, covering his face with a shaking hand.

“S-sorry,” he panted, turning away. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Jim shuddered on the sofa, dark eyes of reproach and annoyance on John’s back before they smoothed to worry and concern, and he quickly sat up and scoot further back into the corner of the sofa. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t apologise. You did nothing wrong. If anyone should apologise, then it’s me. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to push you.”

John turned back around, though he could hardly bring himself to look at Jim, and more looked at the spot next to his ear than at the man himself. “I…” John didn’t know what to say. He had enjoyed himself, that much was quite obvious, and he had found pleasure in very male body against and below him, up until a certain point. Feeling one specific part of Jim’s anatomy had been startling, something far too new for him to handle so soon into his exploration into bisexuality, and he’d freaked out. God, he was pathetic.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” he repeated in lieu of anything more meaningful to say. “I just…I’m not ready. This is moving too fast.” Which was something he’d never said before, he knew, which made him feel even worse. His father’s words still existed in his head, however, and there was no denying the form below him when _that_ was poking into his belly.

Jim huffed a short laugh, scrubbing his face and shaking his head as he looked away. “I mean…I guess I can take comfort in the fact that at least I can be certain you aren’t just using me for a quick lay,” he said, voice rife with self-hatred.

“Jim, no,” John said with feeling, and though it made his stomach quiver with unknown feeling, he moved to sit on the couch with Jim, though nowhere near as closely as they had been before. “It’s not…it’s not anything against you, I promise.”

“I’m quite aware what you probably think of me, John, you don’t have to sugar-coat it,” Jim said, and though the words could have been said in anger, they were more resigned. “What sort of slag does it make me to try to put out before even the second date.” He covered his face with his hands, propping his elbows on his knees as he slouched forward. “I can call you a taxi, if you want to leave. And I won’t bother you anymore, if that’s what you want.”

“Jim!” John said firmly in his best Captain Watson voice, causing Jim to jump and stare at him in shock, cheeks once more brightly flushed when they had been dulling. “I’m not upset with you, Jim. I…I still like you,” he said, hearing and feeling the truth in the words as he said them. “And any other day, I’d most certainly be amenable to…all this,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “But it’s a lot to take in. I’ve never… _felt_ another man before. At least, not in a personal setting. I’m still getting used to all this, but just because I can’t do this right now doesn’t mean I won’t be able to someday. And I’d like to. With you. Just…not now.”

He felt a little silly saying all that, but a hopeful expression was beginning to appear on Jim’s face, and he knew that he had to fight past his own unease and embarrassment at being so candid for Jim’s benefit.

“I still very much want to go on a second date with you, and I certainly would very much like to snog you again, just…everything else will have to take time. But I want to try them. Eventually.”

Jim took in a deep breath, but then he offered John a familiar shy smile, and John thought that maybe they would be okay. “I would really like to try them with you too, John. When you’re ready. I’m sorry I was so pushy. I just…after Robert came back, all I could think about was you, and I worried I lost my chance with you, and then I ran into you again and you were still so kind and thoughtful and even more handsome than I remembered and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before, John Watson. I didn’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me, Jim,” John murmured quietly with a tender smile, moving closer to Jim. Almost as one, his arms opened and Jim moved into them, nuzzling under John’s chin and wrapping his arms around him, though there was nothing sexual about it this time. John wondered if it was strange to feel so strongly for someone he’d only gone on one pub date with, but there was something about Jim that just pulled him in.

“So you’ll stay tonight, then?” Jim whispered against John’s chest, and John felt a small wave of content settle over him, causing him to smile again, wrapping his own arms around Jim and holding him tight.

“Don’t worry,” John whispered. “I’ll stay.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Class is still cray, but I'm hoping to have SOME more free time to write. I am currently writing this story while also writing/publishing another story for a different fandom, and my plan is to leap frog chapter updates for both. Please continue to remain patient for me as I deal with my personal life and different stress factors, and I hope you continue to enjoy this story whenever I have time to update. Your kudos and comments keep me going, seriously. Thank you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fair warning, Jim has some not so nice thoughts in this chapter.

Jim was most assuredly _not_ pouting. Not when that idiot Watson wasn’t even conscious to see such manipulation. No, Jim was not pouting in bed, the last residuals of ache having since faded—though they were not forgotten.

John Watson wasn’t unappealing, he’d already determined this, and Jim was a lot freer with his sexuality—whatever it actually was; he wasn’t too held up on labels, unlike a certain gentleman. He certainly wasn’t against serving his carnal pleasure whenever he felt like it, and he had to admit that he certainly felt like it last night, with John’s solid form pressed against him, the talented mouth of the doctor on his own, feeling the heat and strength of the man. Jim was quite safe in his own masculinity to admit what he liked, and what with being so dominating a person in the rest of his life, he couldn’t deny the appeal of letting someone else dominate him a bit in bed. And John, stupid John, had more than fit that bill.

Until his blasted sexuality crisis had come to the fore again, leaving Jim high and dry.

So no, Jim was most assuredly not pouting, even if he had been so close to getting what he was certain would have been a most brilliant shag, only to be left hard and wanting without even the opportunity to call one of his men to come finish the job off for him. They were fine fellows, excellent with aftercare, but he’d really wanted something new that day. Something new and decidedly John Watson shaped.

Alas, it was not to be—not yet. It was not the end of the world, however, he had to admit. John _was_ interested, and Jim _had_ gotten a little farther along than he had originally contrived when first showing up battered and bruised at John’s place of business, artfully done by one of Jim’s most faithful and trusted servants. He could tell Sebastian had enjoyed parts of it, just as Jim had, but he also knew about Sebastian’s own infatuation; it was why he never allowed his most faithful to share his bed with him, though he certainly allowed him to watch sometimes. The frustration and jealousy that Sebastian felt was always so…delicious.

Of course, now it was Jim’s turn to feel that frustration, and this time it tasted sour. Still, John was open to continuing to see him, as he knew the doctor would be when Jim pulled the self-hatred card, inciting John’s pity and pulling him deeper and deeper in Jim’s web. Jim just had to pluck the strings carefully, and soon John Watson would be his. Through him, of course, Jim would then soon have Sherlock Holmes himself. Perhaps he’d give John to Seb then to play with. Once Jim was through with him, of course. No sense throwing out a toy before it was broken. No sense indeed.

Until then, however, Jim had to play along and carefully orchestrate John until his hold on the doctor was complete. Even if that meant curling into an uncomfortable position on the end of the sofa where he and John were cuddling all night. He had managed to get John back to the sofa and remained close, and though he had attempted to convince John to join him in the more comfortable bed—innocently, of course—John had remained resolute to remain on the sofa. So there too remained Jim. They’d talked a bit more, even exchanged a couple innocent kisses that never turned to snogs, until finally John fell asleep with his arms around Jim while leaning back into the corner of the sofa. Jim, however, remained awake. Mostly. The warmth of John and the steady tempo of his heart so temptingly close and vulnerable had lulled Jim into more than one moment of dozing.

John would no doubt be awake soon, an early riser by habit as both a military man and a doctor, and Jim was considering if it would be best to push him to stay for breakfast or have the man leave, while also fantasising about dear Sherlock’s reaction to John being gone all night. A part of him wished he had marked John in some noticeable way, but he knew he had to be slow and steady; he couldn’t spark Sherlock’s suspicions just yet. It was obvious that John had yet to reveal his same-sex flirtations just yet, and it really worked in his favour. The longer John put off coming to terms with his sexuality to others, the more pity Jim could earn for himself. The more pity Jim had, the easier John would be to manipulate.

It was really all too easy, even if parts of it left Jim _not_ pouting at a night that could have been spent much more pleasurably. He was already plotting his next move, however. After all, John wanted to go slow, so Jim would go slow. Slow and torturous. If John wanted to get used to the male body, well, who was Jim to stop him?

With that thought in mind, the sun’s rays slowly rising, Jim carefully began extracting himself from John’s hold. Timing, after all, was everything.

* * * * * * * * *

John let out a soft groan as he awoke, a flare of pain across his neck and shoulders reprimanding him for his uncomfortable sleeping, causing him to grimace is it twinged along his old injury. It took him a moment to remember what led to such a position this time, as he was quite used to them after living with Sherlock and staying up all night for cases, and it wasn’t until he blinked his eyes and wiped the sleep from them that he remembered the events of the past night.

Oh god. He’d made a complete arse of himself, hadn’t he? He felt the shame heat his cheeks again, stretching out his arm to peer blearily down at the face of his watch though even he could tell that it was early yet. Which brought to mind…

Where was Jim?

He wondered if one could die of embarrassment. It had seemed fine, or fine enough, last night before he’d fallen to sleep, but the morning after was always a touch more awkward. What would Jim think of him? He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d like to eventually…do that sort of stuff with Jim, but he was well past his youth and shouldn’t have been freaked out by the feeling of another man’s…well, by another man beneath him. It wasn’t like having another man above or behind him—and he quickly pushed such thoughts out of his mind before he could picture that and find out just what he thought about such things—so he really didn’t know why he’d freaked out the way he did.

Had any of his old mates been around, they’d have taken the piss out of him faster than he could blink. Though, he had a feeling not all of them would have been comfortable with the thought of John liking blokes to begin with. Jesus, he was fucked.

Groaning again, John leaned forward over his knees and pressed his face into his hands. So his old army mates might not have been on board with a John ‘Three-Continents’ Watson that also liked blokes. So all he could remember at present was the black eye their father had given Harry when she brought her first girlfriend around. None of them were around at the moment. No, it was just him and Jim. Jim who, by all rights, should have kicked him out at the first opportunity last night. Instead, Jim had curled up against John and, as far as John recalled, had fallen asleep there in his arms. Or, at least, John had fallen asleep.

He remembered too the murmured conversations and quiet kisses. So. Jim didn’t _seem_ mad at him, at the very least. At least not last night. Who knew what the morning brought with it.

John sighed, rubbing his hands over his face before tossing aside the blanket they’d draped over themselves last night and standing up, cracking out his back with a wince. He really needed to stop sleeping anywhere other than a bed. Maybe next time he’d take Jim up on the offer of his bed after all—if there was a next time. He supposed that he would soon find out. Now that he was more awake, he could spell the glorious scent of coffee, though Jim was nowhere to be found. Or at least…he hadn’t been.

A suddenly shrill beeping came from the kitchen area, causing John to wince once more as it pieced through his head, igniting the headache from drinking to excess that had been laying in wait. From the hallway leading to the bedroom, Jim’s muffled voice could be heard repeating, “Shit, shit, shit,” until the man in question came into view. Jim was dripping wet, clad only in a white towel hastily tied around his waist and held in place with one hand, restricting his speed as he moved quickly into the kitchen to turn off the announcement from his coffee maker of a finished brew.

John, however, had quickly turned out the beeping as his eyes took in Jim’s form. Lithe, toned but not overly muscular, pale but not unhealthily so (minus the bruising), with a narrow trail of dark hair leading from just below (though not directly) his navel to underneath the bunched form of the towel slung low over his hips. The rivulets of water cascaded over Jim’s bare chest and back from his dripping hair, over his neck, and John nearly choked as, after Jim turned his back to him to reach into a lower cupboard, the damp, the white towel stretched perfectly over Jim’s backside when he bent over. It took a moment for him to realise Jim was speaking, but he shook his head and tried to focus when he noticed.

“-orry, sorry,” Jim was saying contritely as he straightened and glanced over his shoulder. “I was just trying to take a quick shower while the coffee brewed, forgot to turn off the alarm.”

John cleared his throat, forcing his eyes level, hoping his face didn’t look as flushed as it felt at the image of a wet and nearly naked Jim standing before him. Though women could have their own little trails, none were ever as prominent as Jim’s was, and it took all of John’s self-control not to follow the trail with his eyes. The towel was wrapped haphazardly around Jim, and it would be so easy for the grip to loosen just enough by accident to cause the towel to tumble down around Jim’s ankles, revealing the thing that had so startled John last night.

‘ _The thing_.’ John wanted to scoff at himself. He was a doctor, for Christ’s sake, and more so had been in the army surrounded by near to naked men. He could say _penis_ , thank you very much. Jim’s penis. And, really, John was well used to one what with having one of his own and dealing with them in his practice. They all roughly looked the same, he knew that his own was a little bit more than average, with matching testicles, thank you very much. If there was one thing about himself that John _wasn’t_ physically self-conscious about, it was his genitalia and his proficiency in using it.

Just…he’d never considered doing those sorts of things with _another_ penis. Until Jim. Even then, it had been abstract thoughts at best, despite the porn he’d been watching lately. But it was just a penis. It’d feel the same, react the same, do the same sort of things that John’s did…he was pretty sure at least. Jesus. What did Jim’s even look like? Was he bigger? Was he smaller? Did his curve at the end? John was morbidly curious, but he also thought he might run screaming if Jim dropped the towel just then. Of course…the backside view hadn’t been too bad…

John was an adventurous lover. He’d tried all sorts of positions with the women he’d been with, especially during his tour in the army, so it wasn’t like he was unfamiliar with the allure of certain backsides. He’d just never before thought about applying such measures of attractiveness to men. Or, he’d never before allowed himself to _acknowledge_ such thoughts. With this change in the view of his sexuality, he had to admit that Jim had a _very_ nice backside. Would such sex with a man be all that different from such sex with a woman? Certainly he knew the anatomical differences, and sure, a man’s body might be a little…firmer, but was it altogether different? He remembered the feeling of Jim beneath him last night, for a brief moment pictured this Jim with only the towel between them, until the memory of what was hidden beneath that towel came back to him.

That would certainly be different. He’d seen the porn—hell, he’d even seen porn with women with strap-ons, though he’d never been quite _that_ adventurous—so he knew that most men needed stimulation as well as penetration to ejaculate, and he wasn’t so selfish a lover to make anyone do the work he should be doing. Jesus. What would it feel like to have another man’s penis in his hand? What would it feel like to have _Jim’s_ penis in his hand? And what the hell did it even look like?

It’d be so simply, so easy to find out…he just wasn’t sure he was ready for that just yet.

And, much to John’s horror, Jim was apparently trying to get his attention while he was _gaping_ at Jim’s nearly naked body. He jumped, knowing his face had to be enflamed this time, and hastily dragged his gaze from Jim’s chest. The presence of Jim’s bruising helped some, helped temper John’s confused libido, but he was still intrigued about the change in his views.

“Sorry,” John rushed to say, turning away quickly for the excuse of looking for his phone. “Um, lost in thought, for a moment,” he mumbled. “Er, Sherlock might be missing me.”

Jim snorted quietly behind him, carrying two mugs of tea, towel more firmly wrapped now but still looking precarious as thought any slight movement might blow it open. “Here,” he said, holding out a mug. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh, startle you with my appearance. Probably not the best sight in the world,” he sighed with a familiar self-deprecating roll of his eyes.

“You look great!” John blurted, spinning back around to face Jim, taking the mug without thought. He felt embarrassed all over again about his outburst, however. “I mean…it’s not a problem.” He motioned with his mug, though he was careful he didn’t look down at Jim’s chest again. “Do you want anything more for the bruising?”

Jim shrugged, cradling his own mug in both hands to fight off the morning chill, made worse by being wet and nearly naked. “They’re not too bad.” He smirked a little then, a tease in his dark eyes as he lifted his mug to take a sip. “Normally I don’t mind a few bruises, but only when they were fun to receive.” He winked at John, who spluttered into his coffee, before turning around in what John could only term a sashay. “I’m going to get dressed. If you stick around, I’ll make you breakfast since we didn’t get much of a dinner last night.”

John, eyes focusing on his coffee so he didn’t sneak another peek at Jim’s backside—all right, at Jim’s perfectly pert arse through the towel that revealed far more than it covered, nodded and waited until the door of Jim’s room clicked closed before hastily reaching for his clothing from the night before. He dressed in military quickness, frowning slightly at a certain piece of his anatomy that protested the tight confines of regular clothes and not the freeing softness of Jim’s borrowed pyjama bottoms. Fuck. Jim was, beyond a doubt, male. John had felt that clearly last night, and yet…though one part certainly bothered John, he couldn’t help but be curious and…admiring of the rest. Jim was an _attractive_ male, and he wanted John. And John was fairly certain he wanted Jim too, just…it was a bit too much.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to go home and have a furious wank while he thought about that towel, however. He was only human, after all.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jim collapsed back on his bed with a small groan, towel finally slipping. John had looked fairly delectable that morning, with his hair slightly mussed from sleep, and obviously close to suffering from apoplexy judging by the way he was staring at Jim. It would have been only too easy to let go of the towel, or of leaning in for a kiss and pressing his damp body against John’s, only a few layers separating them…

He would certainly be calling one of his men to deal with his frustration later, after John left. He had to keep things a little milder than he usually preferred, however, as he couldn’t risk further injury for John to see next time he managed to get shirtless around the man. No, he had to be on his best behaviour— _bor-ring_. Still, there was something waiting to be unlocked in John, and Jim only had to play his strings right to get John exactly where he wanted him. And then: Sherlock.

Jim hummed at the thought, eyes closing with a smile as his hand drifted over his stomach, teasing at his trail of hair. He imagined it, imagined how it would go. First, he’d have John. Though he couldn’t deny the appeal of riding a thick, hard cock, feeling it fill him completely, he was a bit of a switch, when the mood struck him. He imagined John, naked, sweaty, trembling on hands and knees, perhaps with a gag in his mouth. Blindfolded? Perhaps. Definitely with a collar on. He imagined kneeling behind him, feeling the warmth of John, the squeeze of him, ready to be claimed by his master. Oh, the delicious sounds he’d make. Muffled by the gag? Or allowed to shout to his heart’s content as Jim filled him up? Both were appealing.

The most appealing thought, however, was the image of Sherlock, immobile and helpless, watching as Jim took his pet over and over again. Ungagged, then; Jim wanted Sherlock to hear John begging for it. Begging for _him_ and not Sherlock. Yes, that would be better, he thought. John bruised, bleeding, begging for him, all the while Sherlock watched until whenever Jim bored of Sherlock’s pet. Then he’d let one of his men in, maybe more than one, let them have John as Sherlock and Jim watched. And then…and then Jim would force Sherlock to his knees to worship his new master. Hm. His new king. Yes, he liked the sound of that.

Sherlock was his goal; John was just the key to getting to him.

Which, speaking of, he had to get back to the good doctor. Work now, he supposed, and fun later.

_Lots_ and _lots_ of _fun_.

* * * * * * * * * *

“This is really good,” John said around a bite of food, trying not to sound too amazed and insulting the man sitting next to him at the breakfast bar. Jim, however, smiled a little shyly and shrugged as he ate his own plate of perfectly cooked eggs. The novelty of having someone else cook him breakfast (who wasn’t Mrs Hudson) still amazed John, seeing as all he could think was that Sherlock would never willingly cook breakfast, and if he did then it was likely to have some sort of contaminate in it. Perhaps purposefully.

“It’s nothing,” Jim said. “I’m just glad you liked it. I haven’t had anyone else to really cook for in a while, I kind of miss it,” he laughed.

“Well, I certainly appreciate it,” John replied with his own small grin and tease. “If you ever feel like cooking for someone, you have my number.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jim said, nudging his shoulder against John’s.

This was nice, better than nice, actually. John had worried that things would be awkward now, that Jim would be eager for John to leave, but it seemed the opposite was true. Which John was very thankful for, since it led to a delicious meal he hadn’t had to cook or order up from Mrs Hudson or the market. With Jim and him both properly dressed now, he felt more at ease as well, though now that he’d become aware of it, he couldn’t help but notice how nicely Jim’s jeans fit his arse. This pair was black faded in all the right places, tighter yet well worn, and it did nothing but emphasise the man’s assets. All over.

With the awkwardness of the past night and earlier that morning distanced from him, John found himself rather enjoying the jeans, in fact, and Jim’s overall appearance. His hair was without product, though John had seen plenty of it when he’d taken a shower, and his shirt looked soft and comfortable, the faint scent of fresh laundry drifting from the blue cotton. Better, though, was the scent of Jim himself. John had the scent himself, in part thanks to his shower the previous night, and he found he rather enjoyed it. He knew he’d be unable to hide it from Sherlock, but he hardly cared at the moment, instead enjoying the way Jim’s eyes lit up when he glanced over at him, at the curve of Jim’s lips when he smiled, making his mouth look…well, quite kissable.

The only fault John could see, of course, were the bruises and split lip, though thankfully it looked like the medical glue was holding strong.

“So…what are your plans today?” John murmured as they finished up eating. His time, he knew, was drawing to a close.

Jim sighed heartily. “First I need to check in with work,” he grumbled, pushing his plate away. “Make certain I still have a job.” He pulled a face. “And get a new phone.”

John frowned, pushing his own plate away at the return to the topic of Jim’s ex. “Are you going to be all right on your own? I could…call in to work.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” Jim said with another shy smile, placing his hand on John’s arm. “But I’m a big boy. I can handle myself now. I was just still a little jumpy last night, sorry.”

“Hey, no,” John said, sliding from his stool seat to step closer to Jim’s, reaching out to take hold of his hand and gently squeezing it. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s perfectly understandable for you to be…uncomfortable last night,” he said carefully, not wanting to call Jim scared. “I was more than happy to help. I mean it,” he promised with a gentle smile.

Jim lightly chuckled, nodding, though he looked down. At least, until John’s free hand carefully cupped his jaw, lifting his head up until he could stare into his eyes. A moment of silence passed between them, and then John was leaning forward, carefully pressing their lips together. Jim let out a small noise that did not at all sound disapproving, following it up by sliding his own hand around John’s neck and into his hair as their lips slotted and moved against each other. The pace was slow, sweet, and though John felt a warmth in his belly, it came from more than just arousal.

Kissing Jim…it felt right. There was the slight stubble, the strong fingers in his hair, and the flat planes of Jim’s chest as they gravitated towards each other that was unlike anything John had experienced before, before this man currently in his arms. He could do this part with ease, and he dearly wanted to be able to do the other part as well. He just needed time.

Pulling away slightly, John lingered close, this thumb gently caressing the corner of Jim’s mouth that was uninjured. “Call me,” he breathed. “As soon as you have a working phone again.”

Jim nodded, smiling softly and nuzzling against John’s hand. “Of course,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

John returned the smile, leaning in again to kiss Jim once more. This kiss was just as tender as the one before, but the hint of heat whispered at the edges as John pulled Jim more tightly against him. Only when the need for air became too great did John part from Jim’s mouth. “Come to the clinic if you need anything,” John murmured. “Anything at all. Medical or otherwise.”

“ _John_ ,” Jim said with what could almost be called a giggle and an affectionate look. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine. I promise.” He rolled his eyes, but it was obvious he was pleased. “But yes, all right? I’ll come to the clinic if anything is amiss. Or maybe if I just miss you,” he teased.

John gave a small short and shake of his head, but he couldn’t deny the smile on his lips. “All right. Call me, or text me, or whatever, as soon as you get your phone. Do you need my number again?”

“No, I wrote it down.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to John’s jaw. “You should go. Before I decide not to let you,” he said with a small huff. “Kissing you is far more enjoyable.”

Seeing as how John felt the same way, he found it a little hard to do as Jim asked, instead leaning in for another kiss and another after that once they parted. He suddenly had a better understanding of his sister’s and Sherlock’s addictions, since he was fairly certain he was quickly becoming addicted to Jim’s kisses. Or maybe it was Jim himself. It would have been troubling to John if he hadn’t been enjoying himself so damn much.

Finally, Jim laughed again and pushed against John’s chest. “ _Go_ ,” he emphasized. “Put on some clothes that don’t smell like your clinic,” he teased.

John huffed in mock exasperation, but he did allow Jim to put some distance between them. “Call me,” he simply said again.

“I will. I promise.”

“Good.”

Jim, apparently realising that John was unlikely to move on his own, rolled his eyes with a teasing smile and motioned John to get his things, walking him to the front door. “I won’t even be home much today, so you can stop worrying. You patched me up and took care of me. I’m good to go now. So just let me know when you are,” he added in a purr with a wink.

John, caught off guard at that and taking longer than he would have liked to piece together what Jim was talking about, was horrified to let out a small squeak when Jim’s hand collided in a quick smack to his backside. He flushed, stammering syllables without words, and was all but pushed outside the door. He glowered at Jim, but it was without any real heat, and his lips twitched slightly at Jim’s smug expression. Before he could be further pushed away, he grabbed Jim’s shirt and pulled him in, crashing their lips together for one last kiss that certainly had more heat than any of the others that morning.

When he pulled back from what he considered one of his perfected dominating kisses, he smirked at Jim’s own flushed appearance. “Call me,” he said again, this time accompanied by a wink of his own, and then he was shoving his hands in his pockets and heading for the street where he could flag down a cab.

Had he looked back, he would have seen a contemplative look on Jim’s face, promptly followed by a scowl before it was blocked by the shutting of the door. While he might have been horrified at being so expertly manipulated, had he known Jim’s true game, he also might have been far too pleased to know that he’d shocked the mastermind greatly by throwing a new piece on to the board he didn’t know they were playing. In any case, both were left with a desire to see the other again soon, if for slightly different reasons.

* * * * * * * * * *

As John carefully made his way upstairs, he was horrible conscious of the clothes he had worn the previous day, as well as the far more herbal scent of shampoo that, while still masculine, was not his usual brand. He bet it probably cost more, too. He’d never arrived last night, now he was showing up after breakfast…Mrs Hudson no doubt noticed. Had she said anything? Would Sherlock?

It wasn’t like Sherlock was his mother or anything, and he certainly wasn’t John’s wife; they were flatmates and nothing more. Friends, perhaps, if people like Sherlock even had friends. So what if he’d stayed the night out somewhere. So what if it was with a man…though John was hoping to leave that part out. It wasn’t like John owed Sherlock anything. Nothing at all, in fact.

John had been about to just head upstairs to his room when the door to the flat swung open. “Come, John, we have a case!” Sherlock announced in his usual jubilation for cases as he hurriedly began simultaneously pulling on his coat and reaching out for John’s arm to drag him back downstairs.

John gaped, letting Sherlock pull him along for a moment, trying to process what was happening. There was a case. Sherlock was pulling on his arm trying to force him along, and he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He thought about running around London who knew where, for who knew how long, wearing not only clothes from yesterday but also _work_ clothes from yesterday. He grimaced just at that thought. He knew that, normally, he wouldn’t kick up a fuss, would follow Sherlock wherever and whenever, no matter his own discomfort.

But today had not been normal by any stretch of the imagination.

Fuelled by the morning’s experience, caught not in Sherlock’s orbit but instead another man’s, John yanked his arm out of Sherlock’s grasp and stood his ground. “No, Sherlock!” he declared, with enough authority that it stopped Sherlock dead in his tracks as he stared in shock at John, who usually never contradicted him about such things. John drew in a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sherlock—”

“John, the case!” Sherlock protested, reaching for him again, but John took a step higher up the stairs back to the landing.

“ _No_ , Sherlock,” he repeated sternly, causing Sherlock to flag in confusion. “I just got home, I had a long day yesterday, and I’m not traipsing around London in these clothes. I’m going to go upstairs, change, freshen up some, and then we can leave.”

“But the _case_ —”

“The case can wait,” John said decisively. “I won’t be long. Just…just give me ten minutes or so.” John sighed, shaking his head, before turning and hurrying the rest of the way up the stair before Sherlock could say anything else or deduce anything else. It was really the last thing he needed that day. So, he’d dress, brush his teeth, run a comb through his hair, maybe shave, and then he’d follow the madman downstairs wherever the hell this latest crime had taken place. And that was that.

He did not know, however, that for the second time that day he had left a man contemplative, left him scowling, and left him wondering just what the hell was going on but resolute in finding out the answers to the mystery that was Dr John H. Watson.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you more than likely know by now, tumblr is currently engulfed in a trash fire. *eye roll* For those that might be following me on tumblr, I have no intention of abandoning ship, though I worry how it may be in future, so I recently made a fandom Twitter account. Username is the same, so you can find me at:
> 
> [Tumblr ](http://ladyxdarcy.tumblr.com)   
>  [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ladyxdarcy)


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